Warring Minds
by Dimes Wish
Summary: The human mind is an infinite place; a safe-haven for the most intimate thoughts; the secret desires; the darkest of dreams. Duo knows this better than most. As a Gundam pilot, he is deadly. But as an unwilling dream-walker, he's at the mercy of everything the mind can dream up. That is, until he finds refuge in a most unwanted source. Canon-esque, slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** Duo has a little problem. Scratch that, a big problem. A gift, of sorts. One that is not conducive to being a Gundam pilot, keeping a low profile, having a life or enabling any sort of normal relationship. AU, begins during the war, a long 1x2 get together fic.

**Warning:** Swearing. Copious amounts of swearing. AU- I use the plot of the series as a loose guideline. Most of the major events in the beginning of the series happen, however some characters meet at different times, in different ways. (Eg. Duo does not meet Hilde at Barge) Also, the time line is delayed (the war takes place over two years, not one.) This chapter is not beta'd. Future chapters are, but by a 'real world' friend who hasn't not seen the series. She corrects only sentence flow, grammar and spelling.

**Disclaimer: **If Gundam Wing belonged to me, there'd be a lot less fighting, and a lot more fucking. The _Wake_ series provided the inspiration for Duo's little problem.

**Note: **This story begins the day Duo meets Heero in the series.

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**Prologue**

**Paranoia**

**April 7th, 195**

The more you try and plan something, the more things seem to go wrong. You know what I'm talking about- like one of those days where you're positive that someone is out to get you.

No, I'm not being paranoid, and yes, someone usually is out to get me—part of the territory that comes with being Duo Maxwell. I'm not talking about some guy with a personal vendetta or hell-bent on global domination- those can at least be caught and thrown into a jail cell to rot. I'm talking in the more metaphysical sense; a _Someone_. A god, deity or some other annoying type of omnipotent being. I am going to die one day- sooner being more likely than later these days- and when I arrive at those damn pearly white gates, I'm going to hunt down whoever's been messing with my life for their shits 'n' giggles and kick them in their consecrated nuts.

Case point numero uno. When you grew up on the streets like I did, life was one constant, ever-evolving plan. Food and shelter, after all, are unfortunate, chronic necessities; obtaining them was an occupation in its own right. My 'little problem' was just that back then. Little. More amusing than inconvenient.

And then the chance to be a Gundam pilot just _happens_ to fall into my lap. I mean, what sounds more believable; a life on the streets, or a crazy old guy offering me, a street brat, the chance to pilot one of the most technologically advanced pieces of machinery known to man, all to win a war that's been going on longer than I've been alive. Not to mention hot meals three times a day. Yeah, right,_ that_ sounds plausible. No divine meddling there.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not a big believer in the All-Mighty God, but sometimes somethings just make you go 'what-the-fuck?'. I was about the furthest thing from a soldier imaginable. Back then, I thought 'caliber' referred to one of those weird types of cheeses that I filched that always made me puke. A 'thruster' was the guy on top during... well, you know.

Which leads me to my point about _Someone_ being out to get me. See, after that my 'little problem' became a little more...problematic.

I'm a dream-walker.

I figure that's the most accurate term describing what I do. I get sucked into people's dreams, get to live them and experience them like they were my own. Joy, I know.

Back when I was younger, it wasn't a big deal. In fact, I didn't know anything different; I'd been able to do it for as long as I could remember. I'd go to sleep at night, and I got pulled into the nearest dreamer. When he was still alive, it was usually Solo's head I got pulled into. He was always the closest body sleeping near me. At the Maxwell Church, it was whoever I shared a room with that night.

The problems all started when I began my training. Suddenly, it wasn't just happening just when _I_ went to sleep. It was happening all the time. And not just when people were asleep either. I'd knock someone out during sparring practice and I'd be down snoozing on the mat beside them. Unlike my years on the streets, when I could still wake up to outside noises, or someone shaking me, I'd now be stuck in their head until they came around, or until someone put enough distance between us that I could come out of it on my own. You wouldn't believe how often I got caught by someone sleeping on guard duty- well, at least then my body hitting the ground was usually enough to wake us both up.

I don't know why the change; whether it was some of the drugs they gave me that screwed with my system, or whether it was just age and hormones. Didn't matter really. At that time, all I cared about was keeping my ability a secret. There was no way in hell I was going to jeopardize that chance of a lifetime—being a Gundam pilot- by coming clean. I mean honestly, could you see Dr. G keeping a defective soldier around? One who passed out every time he incapacitated an opponent? Yeah, me neither. That need for secrecy made me a better pilot in the long run, or so I hoped. I'm extremely good at compensating for my problem. I'm adept at stealth- that being a throwback to my years on the streets. If nobody hears me sneaking in, there's no reason for me to attack 'em. I'm proficient in using pressure points to render an enemy harmless, without the need to knock them out. And if those techniques both fail? Well, I don't get sucked into dead bodies.

Unfortunately, killing high school students might raise some eyebrows.

Which leads me to my next point.

I think the combination of sheer stupidity and lack of sleep on my part was the reason I found myself in my current predicament.

Let me just clear one thing up here- Operation Meteor had started out great. Sneaking Deathscythe and myself past OZ ships, hiding in a field of space garbage when I came close to getting caught- now that takes some pretty snazzy piloting. From there we fled into atmosphere, crash-landed on the Earth... okay, that last part was purely accidental. Simulated re-entry and actually going through it?- two totally different things. Simulators prepared me for dealing with any potential problems that could come up, like burnt out servos, failing life support, or dead thrusters. They didn't give me a real appreciation for being able to deal with those problems while being thrown about in my cockpit _and_ hurling to Earth at a few hundred miles an hour. Still, 'Scythe only sustained minor damage, and we miraculously hadn't been seen. I enrolled in school. Everything proceeded to follow G's carefully outlined plan.

Except that part about Deathscythe sustaining minor damage. And instead of being able to do anything about it, I had an alibi to maintain. I had G's 'plan' to follow. The one that had no contingency in it about what to do if 'Scythe was damaged, because in G's mind, that simply _wasn't_ _allowed_ to happen. See now why I think plans are useless?

That was why I was stuck in a hoity-toity prep-school Chem. class listening to a prof who couldn't balance an ionic equation to save his life, when I should have been preparing for that evening. I had a mystery OZ suit to find and destroy, a bust up suit of my own to fix, and all I could do was try not to fall asleep on my shiny new textbook while the prof. repeatedly mispronounced 'oxidation' as 'intoxication'.

I was doodling on the back of my notebook, completely spaced out from my surroundings, when everything went fuzzy.

"Shit," I sighed quietly, dropping my pen.

It was all I could manage before my vision blacked out completely, the floor fell away, and my forehead struck the edge of the desk. I knew immediately that the situation could progress in two ways.

Very bad.

Worse.

Teenage boys weren't exactly known for their vivid imaginations after all.

**14:37**

I tried to pull out, but I couldn't focus. Couldn't get a grasp. I was too tired, and finally just resigned myself to the fact that I was stuck here. At least until the jackass sleeping in class woke up. The scene in front of me was beginning to solidify anyway. It was too late.

The room I was now in looked like it belonged in an old Victorian mansion. A large fireplace situated between two enormous paned windows provided the only light in the room. A small table and two elegant, high-back chairs fanned around it. The floor was made entirely of stone, though was covered in several ornate, hand-woven rugs. The red and gold theme of the rugs was continued in the wallpaper and furniture. A large canopy bed was on my left; the frame wrought entirely of oak, elaborate throwbacks, also in red and gold, hung from each corner.

It sounds strange given the apparent elegance of the room, but the entire scene just reaffirmed my believe that teenage boys had absolutely no imaginations whatsoever. I _knew_ it was a guy dreaming. Trust me, I'd seen it all before. In my experience, a set like this indicated two possibilities for what I was going to see.

Version one meant the room was straight out of some porn movie, and this set was the guy's idea of romance. Yeah, like a girl agrees to sleep with a guy because of his choice in bed linens. I'd have to witness kinky rough sex with his fantasy girl/girls, breasts enhanced to a minimum of three times their normal size, and not a braincell to share between them. They'd pant and moan and tell him how big he was, while he did his best impression of a dog in heat. If that was the case, I should consider myself grateful that the he actually dreamed up an entire backdrop to go along with his fantasy rather than a just a beam and handcuffs, or the leather backseat of an excessively masculine sports car.

Version two, morph into a scene out of some cheesy, b-rated vampire movie, complete with capes and horrible phony Romanian accents.

And as the main characters finally made their dramatic appearance, I had the sinking feeling this was going to follow more along the lines of version one. This could present as a problem, both with my keeping a low profile at the damn school, as well as some shred of integrity intact. Waking up with a boner would be highly embarrassing.

Don't get me wrong, watching someone else's sex fantasy did not turn me on. But when you're stuck in someone else's head- or rather, when I'm stuck in someone's dream, since as far as I know I'm the only person this happens to- I have no control over how I feel. I feel what they feel; the horror, or lust, or anguish, whatever it may be.

And it was dreams like this one that completely turned me off ever being in a relationship.

"Oh Josh," one of the girls moaned, "you're so big."

Brilliant.

**19:30**

I'll spare you the events of what happened next. It involves sneaking out of class and passing out in a bathroom from my usual post-dream-walking headache, catching a ride on top of a semi trailer to make up for the time I wasted while unconscious in said bathroom, nearly falling off at seventy miles an hour when a damn car passed by with a sleeping kid inside and slicing my arms into ribbons while I tried to stop myself from falling off the speeding semi into the bay below. Somehow I managed to get Deathscythe mobile and into the bay without any further incident except crushing a few trees. I'd managed to stay on schedule, the tides were right, and I'd even managed to find the mystery suit of OZ's with only a minor confrontation from some enemy Pisces suits.

That little skirmish really made my day. There's something about destroying things that really brightens my day.

You know, I finally, _stupidly,_ began to think things were beginning to go my way when I saw the mystery suit. It wasn't one of OZ's after all. It was a Gundam. There was another Gundam out there. All this time I thought I'd been the only one. Silly, now that I think about it, I mean, if Dr. G and his group were trying to stop a war, why put all their hopes and training into just me. But at that time, nothing could have surprised me more, and finding that suit couldn't have been more perfect. I now had the parts to repair my own suit, I'd saved the suit from OZ, which meant the technology wasn't going to fall into the wrong hands, and the Gundams were still kept a secret.

Perfect.

Which brings me to point the third in my reasons for why I believe someone is out to get me and make my life a complete living nightmare.

This one's easy to explain. It even has a name.

Heero Yuy.

What a dick.

* * *

**A/N** Three things. First, I hope you enjoyed. This chapter was actually written last, and was the hardest three pages I've ever written. Second, I'm looking for a beta reader- I've had several in the past, and most of them don't bother replying after the initial couple chapters, so serious offers only please. Finally, I'm just wondering how long you guys prefer chapters to be. I tend to write long chapters (10+ pages). This chapter, of course, is excluded from that. I can split them up and update more frequently, or have longer chapters and less frequent updates. Up to you guys, let me know.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed. It really means a lot. ^_^ Although you wanted shorter chapters, updated more frequently, this is a bonus long one because I couldn't find a good place to cut it in half. This part has been beta-ed- any mistakes are all due to my little habit of revising after getting the edited chapter back.

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July 18th 195

22:30

Crashes outside the supposedly safe safe-house are never a good thing. Not at ten-thirty at night, not when we were in the middle of nowhere, not the night before a big mission- not ever.

Even though Heero and I had been in the middle of rather a heated argument over the proper use of a camping stove at the time, we both stopped in mid-tirade, him raising a hand while I cocked my head to the side, both of us straining to hear through the thin wooden walls. Quatre ghosted into the room, carefully avoiding all the known creaky floorboards. I pointed a finger over his shoulder to the front of the house, indicating where I though the noise had come from. Quatre nodded in agreement. The three of us exchanged a quick look, and with a couple of fluid, sharp hand gestures, Heero indicated for Quatre and I to go outside via the back door and investigate, while he went up to the roof to act as a scout. My gun was in pieces on the table- I'd been in the middle of cleaning it before the argument. I snagged it as I passed and snapped the barrel back into place, figuring that at the very least, it still looked threatening. I stooped to pull my knife out of my boot as Quatre grabbed the flashlights, tossing one underhand to Heero, passing the other to me as I straightened. Quatre took point as we sidled out the back door, as he did still have a gun that was currently capable of doing more than bashing someone over the head.

Even though he did have the firepower, I still made sure I took the left side of the house; the best and most likely way for anyone to approach the building. I knew Quatre was capable of handling himself in an all-out fight, but I stood the better chance of sneaking up on the intruder unnoticed. Quatre apparently agreed, as he didn't protest in the slightest as I signaled for him to go right as we cleared the porch.

The yard was so wild and overgrown that the trees formed an impenetrable canopy over the house, allowing no moonlight to filter through the dense leaves. No light came from the house either- that would've required it to have electricity. Tree roots lined the ground, and in places they'd even penetrated through the concrete foundation of the house, frequently threatening to trip me on to my face. I advanced slowly along the west side, carefully nestling each foot among the roots and dead leaves, pausing every couple of steps to listen carefully for any signs of life out in the woods, in case we'd been surrounded.

Nothing.

Until a pebble bounced off the top of my head. I jumped, nearly stumbling down into a deep window well, and glanced up to see Heero, a hand cupped over the end of a lit flashlight so I could see the rosy glow, but just barely. I fervently wished I'd thought to volunteer to go on the roof so I could throw rocks at him. I cupped my own hand over my flashlight before I flicked it on and off sharply in response. He didn't signal again. He hadn't seen anything yet.

I had just stepped over the drainpipe, rounding the first corner when I heard the racket again. It still sounded a fair distance away, so I kept up my silent approach, glancing up every now and then in Heero's direction.

That was until I heard Quatre yell. I took off in a sprint, stumbling over tree roots and rounded the next corner, where I saw his flashlight laying the the ground. I couldn't see him- in fairness, I couldn't see anything except what was three feet directly in front of the beam of his light. A cascade of dirt showered me from above as Heero scrambled to make it across the decayed roof.

"Quatre?" I called quietly.

"Here."

The beam moved in my direction. He'd been laying on his stomach in the dirt, peering under a wiggling bush.

"Did you see something?" I knelt down beside him, turning my own flashlight on.

Oh shit.

A pair of amber eyes glared back, and suddenly lunged towards me. I yelped, and Quatre and I tripped over each other as we both frantically scrambled to get out its way. Something passed by my leg, and there was a third crash as it ricocheted into something metal behind us.

Quatre managed to sort himself out first, and swung his flashlight back towards the house, even as he hauled me back to my feet.

"Holy shit, what the hell is that?" I gaped as I finally got a unobstructed view, taking a step forward toward the garbage cans which had obviously been the source, if not the cause, of all the noise.

"Duo, be careful," Quatre warned, laying a hand on my arm as he tried to pulled me back.

"Yeah, but..." I trailed off as the creature turned its gaze back on me, rearing up on its hind legs to shake a furry little fist at me, letting off a stream of irritated chirping.

"I've never seen anything like it before."

"Me either," I breathed, jumping backwards as it waddled towards us. The chattering didn't cease for an instant. "Good grief, it's disgusting! Look how it moves- it's so fat! Do you think we could eat it?"

"Duo, _that's_ disgusting!" Quatre exclaimed, wrinkling his nose.

"Why?"

I truly was curious. This was coming from a guy who I'd shared a pigeon with, on one particularly brutal mission.

"It's been eating garbage! It smells like roadkill. Rotten roadkill."

"Oh, Quat... skin it, roast it, and add a little salt, it'll be fine. Beats a ration bar any day, look how juicy it looks!"

"Don't be so sure of that," Quatre muttered, foolishly taking his eyes of the creature for a split second to mimic retching on the grass beside my foot.

The beast saw an opportunity, wisely not stopping its tirade at us to alert us to that fact, and pounced. I saw the minute tensing of its haunches, and stuck out an arm just in time as it launched to bat it away from clawing off Quatre's face. The devious rodent quickly changed tactics as it whacked into my arm and latched onto me instead. I yelped, windmilling my arm, trying frantically to dislodge the thing while Quatre bravely dove in and grabbed it by the muzzle and tail. Together, we managed to pry it, and a good chunk of my sleeve, off and throw it to the ground. The creature rolled head over tail for several feet and landed in an undignified heap, seemingly dazed. I suddenly remembered my gun and took aim before it got its bearings and could attack again, but the anticlimactic click when I pulled the trigger reminded me that I'd left the house without any bullets loaded.

A thud in the dirt behind us made Quatre whirl around in alarm, while I kept my gaze trained on the monster in front of me.

"Leave it alone," Heero sighed, rising up. His eyes followed the beam of my flashlight, which somehow amidst all the flying rodents and twitchy nerves, I'd managed to keep a firm grip on.

"But what the hell is it?" I stared at the creature as it picked up a old, fermenting jar in its creepy long-fingered paws that was laying under the bush beside it. After glaring at us threateningly, it proceeded to wedge a good portion of its head inside.

Good god, was a tongue that long possible?

"A raccoon. No- don't touch it, Duo, its got mange."

"What?" I paused in mid-step.

The raccoon plunked itself down on its fat butt and scooted across the dirt as it tried using all four feet to extricate its head from the jar.

"Mites. Probably parasites... maybe rabies too."

"Wonderful," I sighed, tugging on the hole in my sleeve. I suddenly felt like I had manner of things crawling all over me.

As we trooped back into the house, I glanced back over my shoulder in case the deranged creature decided to charge us again.

I swear the blasted raccoon flipped me off.

* * *

You know, I didn't need to be psychic to know that this mission was, hopeless, fucked, and otherwise completely doomed from the start.

Strike number one- cooping Heero and I up in a safe house together.

For three days.

With loaded weapons.

Our working relationship (or lack thereof) hadn't exactly started off on the right foot; and it was totally his fault. It was obvious he was still feeling a little bitter about me shooting him. All I had to say was, get over it. I mean _really_, what was I supposed to think when I saw him holding an innocent girl at gunpoint, and the whole thing happened nearly two months ago. Not to mention I could've easily aimed somewhere slightly more vital than a bicep and a kneecap when I'd pulled the trigger, it's not like I was a lousy shot or anything. Honestly, the guy shoulda been grateful I hadn't aimed for his balls or something- had he been an OZ soldier, I would have. No need for those guys to procreate.

Totally his fault. I spared his nuts, I saved his Gundam from OZ (okay, okay, I'd been planning on using it for myself but _he_ didn't know that) and then I went as far as saving his sorry ass from that damn military hospital.

How does he repay me?

He takes parts from MY Gundam. There was no damn way he could've confused me for the enemy at that point, not after I'd done nothing but help the guy. So I wasn't going to get over that. Nobody gets off easily from sabotaging my Deathsythe. I don't care if you're the Pope reincarnated... or was that the Llama guy?

Who cared anyway. Needless to say, things had spiraled down from that day until now, when it felt like we were caged in a house with a live bomb. I don't know how any one of us had made it through the last four days alive, or why Quatre hadn't just taken a gun and put us both out of our misery, because that's how bad it was. We had been trained to withstand torture, but I had naturally (and stupidly) assumed that being tortured would only come from the enemy side.

How naïve of me.

Strike the second. Cooping us up in a safe house that had been built in the middle of abso-fucking-lutely nowhere and had obviously not been occupied since the dawn of time. Apparently that was the bonus, since it meant it was unlikely that anyone was going to walk in on us unexpectedly. Raccoons excluded, of course.

Seriously, a motel room with the 'do not disturb' sign visible on the doorknob would be just as effective, and even a damn pup tents had more luxuries- they at least kept out the rain.

No, instead we got this place. Calling it a house would be generous, but as it had four walls and a roof, I guess it met the basic criteria. Squirrels had eaten through the power lines eons ago, to the point that there was no way to repair them ourselves should we have felt inclined to leech electricity off the closest neighbors, a quarter-mile away. No power lines equaled no electricity, no running water, no heat, and no happy Duo. No food that wasn't dry or preserved—naturally that meant living off of military issued rations which had the consistency and texture of wood chips, only with less flavor.

After nearly four days, can you see why the raccoon was looking tasty?

No showering. God... no showering. I'm no diva, that can't function unless I have my daily bubble bath and aromatherapy treatments, but when you had hair as long as mine, there was a certain amount of maintenance necessary to keep it from breaking every brush that went near it. There was a creek half a mile's hike away that could be used for bathing as long as you didn't mind choking on your nuts when they migrated north, but that did nothing to get out the pine sap that somehow always managed to glue the end of my braid to my butt. The entire house was covered in dust bunnies, the smallest the size of a very large Doberman, and the combination of tree sap and dust made me look rather like I'd been tarred and feathered, or had an infectious disease or something. At least cleaning the house for prints when we left would be a breeze; it was easy to see where you'd been when you were near-wading through the crap like it was quicksand.

I still say torching the place would do the whole town a favor, but that brought us right back around to the 'keeping a low profile' problem.

Strike three. The sheer absurdity of the mission. We were supposed to spend three days scouting a military storage base before infiltrating.

Right.

Anyone who knows anything about breaking in to places -moi- knows you spend a minimum of two weeks scouting and gathering information, because anything shorter is just ludicrous or suicidal, depending on what you're trying to break into. It wasn't exactly a cheapo, run-of-the-mill, home security system we were dealing with, or the local cops showing up if we got caught. We were facing big morons with even bigger guns, who were trying to take over the world. Naturally, when the opposition was armed, I wasn't going to take unnecessary risks.

Except in this case, apparently unnecessary risks was apart of the mission briefing.

We were screwed.

22:45

"The look on your face, Duo!" Quatre chortled, holding open the screen door for Heero and I to go in ahead of him. "When it flew at your face? Priceless!"

"Laugh all you want," I warned him with a grin, "but just remember who shrieked like a girl when that squirrel jumped you the mountains."

"Well how was I to know that they could fly?" he grumbled good-naturedly. "Hang-gliding rodents weren't exactly covered in basic training."

"Neither were ninja raccoons."

Quatre snorted, and nearly shot hot tea out of his nose.

Heero knocked into my shoulder as he passed by me in the cramped kitchen, lugging our packs out of the former sitting room to put by the door. The force made me stumble, and step on one of the dangling pack straps.

"Hey, hey, hey, watch it!" I cried angrily, as my socked foot went sliding across the linoleum. As the strap went taut, Heero was pulled backwards and caught himself on the table.

"For god's sake, Heero, was it too many words to ask me to move?" I yelled, lunging to snag my coffee cup before it overturned on the guts of my gun still scattered about the table and the propane lamp before it set my own bullets firing off at me.

Heero dropped the bags, beating me to the lamp with his disgustingly fast reflexes and steadying it—probably only because gunshots and setting fire to the safe house was likely not the best way to go about keeping a low profile- and not because of any regard for my well-being.

All I managed to do was deflect my coffee from spilling all over the table, to onto the floor, where it splashed up Heero's leg.

I groaned internally, preparing myself for the verbal beating that was surely coming my way about _my_ clumsiness, blatant disrespect, or whatever today's pet peeve was, and grabbed a rag to begin scrubbing at the floor. I fleetingly wondered if I should pat dry his sock too, but then decided he wouldn't see that as being helpful, and being that close to his steel-toed army boot at that particular moment wasn't the most brilliant of ideas.

22:47

The coffee was cleaned up, and Heero still hadn't said a thing. He hadn't even _moved_ for crying out loud! I suppose it was too much to hope for that my coffee'd turned him into a statue, like he was the Wicked Warlock of the West or something. I chanced a glance at his face and finally lost my temper when I saw his expression.

"Your face is going to stay like that if you're not careful," I snapped, before pausing thoughtfully, "'Course you probably won't notice a difference, your ugly mug already-"

"Insult my looks, my intelligence, whatever, but all you're trying to do is cover up the fact that you should have cleaned your gun earlier instead of leaving it until last minute like you always do," he replied icily.

"You could have opened your damn mouth for once and asked me to move!" I yelled.

"You should have just moved!"

Neither of us were stupid. This didn't have a thing to do with who tripped who, the coffee, or my damn gun. Out the corner of my eye, I saw Quatre edging out of the kitchen door- he'd been caught in the middle in enough of these little spats in the last three days to know better than to try and mediate. I felt bad for him because Heero was being a prick and I wasn't in the mood to let him get away with it which led to me being a double complete prick. All of us were feeling the strain, but the guy was such an ass. I was a dick too, but at least I admitted it, _and_ I had the excuse of not having any sleep since we arrived at the safe house. Sleep deprivation alone is considered an effective method of torture.

If I had known then what I knew now, I would have let him rot in that stupid military hospital. Perhaps a slight exaggeration- Gundam Pilots seem to be in rare supply these days- but if he only knew what I went through to break him out of that damn place—a great deal of planning considering I had to worry about getting stuck in HIS blasted coma, maybe he'd be a little nicer towards me.

Right Duo, and monkies would do the fricking macarena first, he had already shown me how grateful he was when he stole all the parts off Deathscythe to repair _his _stupid Gundam.

I racked my brain desperately for some sarcastic retort, but I was just too tired. I was tired of arguing, tired of constantly being on my guard for His-Royal-Holiness...tired of being so freakin' tired. I wasn't about to tell him the truth- oh, I'm so sorry Heero, but it's actually _Quatre's_ fault that I couldn't clean my gun earlier because he just decided to fall asleep in the living room and therefore I spent the better part of the afternoon passed out on the floor inhaling dust bunnies with my head wedged under the radiator while Quatre dreamed about practicing violin scales. Yeah, I know, aren't you glad now that we don't have electricity in this cramped, rat-infested, sorry-excuse for a safe house, 'cause I'm freaking thrilled every time I wake up from someone else's dream without permanent injuries.

I couldn't say any of that. Because besides sounding completely impossible, some stupid little part of me still wanted to earn his respect and friendship, and keep Quatre's. There were four other Gundam pilots, only four others in earth and space who were like me.

So instead, I just sat there gaping like a retarded guppy.

Brilliant.

22:48

Heero got up from the table angrily, though not before an impromptu glaring contest, and snatched his jacket and one of the flashlights from beside the door. He stopped just short at slamming the door- we were in a supposedly vacant house- and went in the backyard, presumably to do a perimeter sweep (that was hilarious in itself, because if he was really worried about someone breaching the perimeter, we'd be doing a guard rotation) before we bunked down for the night. As soon as the door clicked shut, Quatre came back in the room and re-lit the camping stove to make his cup of tea, and now, another cup of coffee for me. I was the only one who could drink coffee at this time of night and not had it affect my sleep- I mean really, it's not like sleep is a willing decision for me when I'm staying with two other people. Even when I'm on my own though, caffeine doesn't bother me. I pop caffeine pills on an hourly basis when I'm on missions. Sometimes that edge is enough to buy me some time to escape if I happen to come across a sleeping person- it's amazing how many people sleep on guard duty.

I quickly finished cleaning my gun, only half paying attention to what I was doing while the other half of my brain was torn between hurling every curse I knew at Heero and genuinely feeling bad for losing my temper at him. It wasn't as if he knew the real reason for my short temper, and if that was the case, I probably didn't know the reason for his either.

Quatre sat down beside me, putting a hand gently on my arm.

"This is my fault isn't it? Because I fell asleep this afternoon."

It was merely a statement; he was looking for clarification as to how my problem worked. Half the time I didn't know. Of all the other Gundam pilots, Quatre was the only one who knew about my little tendency to unwillingly wander into other people's dreams. This was partly because I hadn't actually met the other two pilots and partly because two days ago he'd stopped me from doing a not-so-elegant swan-dive down the staircase when I didn't realize Heero was napping in the next room with the door open.

"Quatre, how the fuck is it your fault that I get sucked into people's dreams?" I snorted, examining the chamber of my gun for any last speck of grime before slotting the first bullet back in."That's like saying it's my fault that you have that whole empathy deal going on, or whatever you wanna call it. It's no one's fault, just one of those screwball things that life likes to torture us with."

"Well, I could have slept somewhere else for a start," he sighed, eying me suspiciously before carefully easing the gun out of my hands and setting it on the table out of my reach.

"Quatre, I wasn't done."

He gave me a look. "It was clean about ten minutes ago, Duo. If you clean it anymore you'll wear a hole right through the barrel, so just leave it be, you're making me nervous."

"Afraid I'm going to lose it on Heero when he comes back?" I chuckled wryly. "Look, where else were you gonna sleep- in the backyard with that fat old skunk that's living under the wood pile? Hey... the raccoon looked like it'd make a nice plump pillow!"

"Don't be an idiot," he scoffed, swilling his tea about in the cup. "I could have gone upstairs, that's what I was saying. I could have _warned_ you."

"It's not like you did it to spite me, Quat! You were tired, so you took a damn nap. I don't see the big deal there. You shouldn't have to _warn_ me. We're all lacking in the sleep department, and it's not like Heero and I are making life any less stressful for you."

He shifted uneasily, though had the grace not to make any further comment on that particular situation. Apparently his hoity-toity upbringing worked to my benefit sometimes, though his general demeanor still made me feel like I needed to stick my pinkie out every time I had a can of soda. "Duo, I know you're exhausted. You're popping how many of those pills everyday just to function? It's danger-"

"And you've never had to, Quatre, come _on_," I retorted, a bit too sarcastically.

"Relax, Duo, I'm not saying I haven't ever had to take them, I just...think you are taking too many."

"I don't need you fussing all over me and spouting off the gory facts, Quat! I'm not stupid, I'm well aware of all those pleasant side effects; the headaches and twitchyness and the constant need to piss like I'm seven months knocked-up or something."

"Are you conveniently forgetting the psychosis, heart irregularities and death?"

Damn guy sounded like he'd swallowed a medical textbook.

"What if I am, Quat?" I demanded. "We didn't exactly sign up to be Gundam Pilots to guarantee our safety and good health during the war, so why should I be afraid of death?"

"I'm not telling you to be afraid of death, but...you could quit poking it with a stick."

I couldn't help it, I snorted at the imagery he provided me.

"Quatre, look," I began, trying my darnedest to keep my tone and expression within normal conversation limits, "I just have to make it through tonight and tomorrow, and then I can disappear for a couple days and take it easy. I'll catch up on my sleep like I always do. It'll all work out, so quit worrying."

Quatre still looked skeptical, doing his own version of the guppy several times while he went through what was most likely several persuasive arguments as to why things just might not 'work out'. He sighed and let yet another topic fall to hang in the already uneasy air. "I wish you'd just tell Heero. We could make some kind of arrangements, at the very least so you could get some real sleep tonight."

Arrangements. Right. I could imagine what those arrangements would be, and I'm sure his first order would be to boot my ass off the mission. Heaven forbid that Heero actually admit that I was needed on this mission for it to be successful.

"Quatre, if Heero finds out, at the best he won't work with me, and at the worst, I won't be a Gundam pilot anymore." I ran my hand through my hair, brushing the tendrils too short to be worked into my braid out of my face. It stubbornly fell right back into place. Probably weighted down from three days worth of oil, grime and dust Dobermans. Maybe I should consider using some of that tree sap as hair-gel or something, and start selling it as a natural alternative to the real stuff.

"He can't stop you from piloting, don't be ridiculous," Quatre retorted, looking mighty ridiculous himself as he _did_ have his pinkie sticking out from his teacup. That must have been some serious brainwashing he went under as a child if he could balance on a stool in the middle of a shack and still make like he was at a tea party with the queen.

"Fine, that may be, but he _can_ refuse to work with me. We need the three of us to do this job tomorrow and I-" The words stuck in my throat; had it been anyone other than Quatre, I would have stopped right there and saved myself from the embarrassing heart-to-heart. But he had this way of of looking at me, with such genuine sincerity oozing out of those bright blue eyes of his, that I always ended up revealing things to him that I wouldn't to anyone else. "I can't handle not being a Gundam pilot, Quat... this is all I have. I've worked so hard. I know you're worried, but-"

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay, Duo, first let's get one thing clear. I'm worried about _you_, not the mission, but I'll drop it. For now," he tacked on thoughtfully.

"Oh, joy."

There was that look again. The frustrated one, that somehow managed to suggest he wanted nothing more than to wind my braid a few times around my head and stuff the tail-end into my mouth.

"I still think you're going to have to tell him eventually, especially if we keep getting put together on jobs like this. That's all I'm trying to say."

"Over my dead body," I muttered dryly, quiet enough so he didn't hear. It made me feel better anyway.

Heero wouldn't understand. That was all there was to the matter. And Quatre would realize that too, if Heero ever did find out.

23:10

We all slept in the same room. I'm not sure whose brilliant idea that was, but like everything. it probably looked better on paper. All of us in one room meant fewer traces to clean when we left and fewer supplies to bring. It'd been hard enough to... 'acquire' one heater, and the fuel to supply it. Having three would be an unnecessary luxury. Heero's words, not mine. Luxuries, by definition, are unnecessary. I don't see what that has to do with anything. Why not have whatever luxury we can scrounge up; I mean, honestly, I'm a soldier, not a machoist.

Maybe Heero's a sadist? That'd certainly explain a lot.

I had been planning on snagging a few hours of sleep during the day, though god knows I've worked a lot longer on a lot less, but for one reason or another, I hadn't had any sleep of my own for close to four days. Quatre was right about one thing. I was exhausted. Gleaning sleep from other people's heads wasn't nearly as gratifying as sleep of my own.

Quatre was usually asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. I had just enough time to crawl into my sleeping bag beside him before my vision dimmed and I got that brief, nausea-inducing sensation of the floor inverting and falling away from me.

At least I'd gotten out of that god-awful habit off holding on for dear life as it happened—people tend to look at you funny when you pass out on the sidewalk and latching on for dear life like it's going to buck you off it at any moment doesn't help matters.

As dreams go, Quatre's were normal enough, though perhaps what was unique to him was I didn't only feel his perspective. Maybe that had something to do with his gift- his empathy- that he was so used to feeling the emotions of everyone around him, that his mind recreated them in his dreams also. It was certainly odd for me- overwhelming even. My initial respect for Quatre had come from my experience in his dreams. I couldn't imagine dealing with all that excess emotional baggage all the time; my own feelings were hard enough to interpret.

For the first little while, the images were insubstantial. His brain was slowing down- technically, alpha waves transitioning to beta, then theta waves. It was the brief window of time where I could still pull out of the dream, still move if I had to. If I could quickly put a physical wall between me and the dreamer, I was safe. But there was no point tonight, unless I wanted to sleep in the bathroom, and the bats technically held the current property rights to that room.

Quatre's mind flashed through of moments from the day, random thoughts and feelings that he'd experienced, and from myself and Heero. Worries of the mission tomorrow, and... something else. Something lurking far enough in the background that I couldn't get a better sense of. The scene shifted to the fight in the kitchen, and then everything started to pick up speed, like we were on a carousel, until it whirled around me chaotically; rage and bitterness, those I recognized as my own feelings, confusion, and guilt- faster and faster until I couldn't distinguish one emotion from another, couldn't tell who was feeling what, couldn't tell where I stopped and the others began. I was standing stationary while the world spun around me like a tornado... Quatre was back in the kitchen and yelling at me, urgently pointing towards something that I couldn't see, but I couldn't hear him over all the other noise, the argument replaying over and over, getting louder, meaner. My hair was whipped around me, until even it felt like it had turned against me, I struggled to breathe as it tightened into a noose around my neck. I choked, my hands scratched frantically at my neck trying to pull it away; all the while some rational part of my mind wondered if I could die in someone else's head.

And suddenly, things fell away again. I felt something else tugging me, _someone,_ that I had ignored every night until this point. Latching on to that, I was able to pull away from Quatre's dream, until the wind faded and I was just watching in a small window like it was on TV, observing, but not be a part of it.

Heero had fallen asleep.

I'd never ventured into his dreams before. I was afraid of what I'd find, afraid of having to spend hour after hour in the rage that was undoubtedly there. I'd chosen to be safe in Quatre's head. I'd never had the luxury of a choice before this mission. But Quatre's dream was too out of control, if I stayed in it any longer it wouldn't be good for either of us. I was afraid I was about to die.

I couldn't hold on much longer, the two minds were pulling at me until I felt like I was being ripped to shreds. Finally, I leapt, my only thought to find safety.

Ironically, I was looking into the unknown for it. In Heero's head.

05:45

I woke up the moment Heero did. He had already left the room before the paralysis wore off, even before I'd had a chance to open my eyes. He wasn't one to take his time laying around waking up. I jumped at the luxury. I lay there in the warmth of my sleeping bag, feeling odd, but content. Something had been different about last night. Something-

05:46

Oh my god.

Heero doesn't dream.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, just a piece of general knowledge here, but apparently raccoons don't necessarily display symptoms of rabies like other animals infected. That fact is courtesy of Wikipedia during my research. Just thought you'd all be dying to know that. ^_^ Also, the reason why Quatre has an untraceable identity (in case anyone was wondering) will be explained in a later chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for the delay! Every time I went to edit and post this, my pager went off, lol. As usual, any mistakes are my fault, not my beta reader's, who I thank for putting up with my constant misuse of then/than, and frequent comma abuse. If you see anything glaring, drop me a line and I'll fix it ASAP.

This is one of those chapters I split up due to length- the finished product was something like 17 pages long. So hopefully I'll have the second part up by the weekend.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 3**

**05:47**

You know, a lot of people think they never dream.

That's not true - at least, not in my experience anyways. Everyone dreams... well everyone except me, of course. I've never had a dream of my own. When I'm sleeping around other people the reason is obvious - I just don't get a chance. But when I'm on my own, well... I don't know whether it's because of my chronic sleep deprivation, or just that I'm physically incapable. Funny that; being physically incapable. I mean, is there some sort of gene I'm lacking? Some synapses that don't fire properly? Scary when you think about it; like saying I have brain damage or something. That's why I try to _not _think about it too much.

It doesn't matter to much to me anyway, I'm not really missing out when I'm tromping through everyone else's dreams night after night, and I've been stuck in enough to know that after awhile they tend to get repetitive. And slightly boring. There only so many times that watching someone show up to class or work naked is funny. Sex dreams? Well, I guess I've already ranted enough about them.

Though I have to admit, the ones where people dream they're suddenly falling still makes me freak out initially. There's something about being suspended a couple miles above Earth hurtling to the ground without the protection of a Gundam that tends to elevate my blood pressure a couple of points.

Everyone dreams... it's just whether they happen to remember they did when they wake up.

I have been dream-walking for as long as I could remember... must have been five or six years old the first time I realized that it wasn't a normal thing to do. Solo was one of those people who could never remember his dreams; every morning he'd wake up and wait for me to come around, laying on his stomach, chin resting in his hands, and generally looking like a kid on Christmas Day, or so I'd imagine having never actually experienced one myself. And everyone morning I'd tell him what he'd dreamed about. Lemme tell you, that takes talent. When you dream, everything makes sense, whether you're talking to animals, or flying, or in one place and suddenly in another, but trying to make sense of it when you're awake is another matter. Trying to make sense of someone else's mind and then explaining it to them, well, that's like translating a foreign language into... I don't know, raccoon-ese or something.

But Heero literally did. Not. Dream. Not even the usual winding down, replaying the events of the day part, unless that had been so brief I'd missed it during my stint in Quat's mind. I actually had to check my watch to see for myself that time had passed. The proof was there though. Six hours had passed.

I had actually had close to six consecutive, _restful_ hours of sleep inside Heero's head.

Well fuck me.

**05:49**

"Duo?" Quatre whispered from the doorway, not coming any closer until he was sure I was awake.

Unlike Heero and I, Quatre hadn't been raised in a life that required you to be on your guard all the time. He'd learnt quickly though, the first time I stayed with him, never to touch me until he was sure I was awake. I had him flat on his back, wind knocked out of him, with a knife to his throat before his mind could even comprehend I was up. I was probably twitchier than Heero, not that I was about to put _that_ theory to the test anytime soon, because I was never completely sure where I had gone to sleep and what I was going to wake up to.

All the caffeine pills didn't exactly help calm the nerves either.

I rolled over in my sleeping bag and smiled lazily at him. "Hey, Quat. Sleep well?"

He gave me a puzzled look and strode across the room, pulling away my sleeping bag before I could realize what was going on. "God, Duo, what happened to you?"

Now it was my turn to be confused.

"Your neck!" he exclaimed, reaching out gently to brush my hair away.

I reached up and felt carefully, closing my eyes in realization at the crusted blood I felt there. I looked at my hands for confirmation, sure enough, there was blood under my fingernails too.

"Crap," I sighed, wondering how I was going to explain this to him without him trying to take the blame for it. It _was_ his dream I'd been stuck in last night, and only Quatre could feel guilty about not being able to control his subconscious mind.

Ironic, that, if you think about it.

"How bad is it?"

He put his hand under my chin, clinically turning my head this way and that to get a better look. "It's hard to tell in this light, but they mainly look superficial. They've all stopped bleeding anyway."

"Well, don't worry about it then." I pulled my head away from his hand, not meeting his gaze and waiting. Quatre didn't know how to 'not worry', I swear, the guy had a whole part of his genetic makeup dedicated to it.

"I'm not worried about a couple of damn cuts, I'm worried about you!"

Damn - about the closest I'd heard Quatre come to actually swearing.

"Quatre, keep your voice down," I griped, cocking my head towards the doorway in case Heero'd caught any of our conversation. The guy had hearing like an supercharged screech owl. "You told me you wouldn't say anything to Heero."

He sighed, and rubbed at his face frustratedly. "I know. I promised you I wouldn't. But Duo, what did that?"

"I did, I guess." I shrugged. "I doubt it was that squirrel in the attic. Though, I bet I smell especially scrumptious this morning. Eau de B.O. The perfect marinade."

Day four with no shower would do that to a person.

Quatre scowled, and pushed his blond hair out of his face. "It's nothing to be making jokes about, Duo!"

"I know it isn't," I hissed, "but what am I s'posed to say? Oh woe is me, boo hoo, please feel sorry for me because I apparently tried to rip my own throat out last night? I've been dealing with this my whole life, Quatre, this happens sometimes, so quit the damn worrying act already!"

I knew immediately I'd gone too far. This wasn't Heero I was dealing with, who could take the rebukes just as easily as he dished them out. This was Quatre, the one who actually gave a damn. I felt like I'd just slapped a puppy. Not because I routinely slap puppies, but if I did, this is what I'd imagine it felt like. I gnawed on my bottom lip and struggled for something to say. I didn't do apologies, not well anyway... but he deserved one.

"Quatre, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap."

He gave me a half-smile. "It's not all an act, Duo."

"I know." I grinned at him ruefully. "My mouth... takes over my brain sometimes. Quite annoying really. Look, Quat... nothing about how I sleep is normal. Obviously. My best guess is I don't get muscle atonia sometimes... that's what cause paralysis in your sleep so you don't act out all your dreams. Would kinda suck if you jumped off a roof 'cause you thought you could fly, ya know?"

"So something was trying to rip out your throat in either my or Heero's dreams," Quatre asked tersely, not buying my casual attempts to brush him off.

I so did not have time for this. Any minute now Heero was going to come waltzing up here and declare world war ten on me because we were running ten-point-oh-two seconds behind schedule. The last thing I needed was for him to start giving me the third degree too.

Though, me being into the whole self-harm thing would be helluva lot more believable than the real problem. Sad, that.

"Something like that," I told him finally, squirming out of my sleeping bag and grabbing my clothes so he'd know the conversation was closed.

Sometimes I thought it'd be easier if I learned to lie, just like everyone else.

**05:55**

Quatre left me alone to get dressed. I would have loved to have cleaned the blood off my neck, but the closest water source was downstairs. It was a large canteen designated as drinking water, and knowing Heero, if he knew I wanted to actually, _gasp,_ wash with it, he'd throw me over his shoulder, hike the half-mile and dunk me in the stream himself. There was nothing I could do but resign myself to the fact that my neck was going to be itchy with dried blood all day, and to be thankful that my clerical shirt would cover the evidence.

**06:00**

I rolled up my sleeping bag, and as I was the last one out of the room, it was my job to get rid of any fingerprints. Purely precautionary of course, by Mr. Anal Retentive's orders, because none of us had traceable identities, and like OZ would really care about some pigsty shack smack-dab in the middle of absolutely nowhere, even if they were by some miracle, able to find it. Still, I dutifully rubbed down the door knob, light switches (in case any of us had touched them out of habit) as well as the banister as I went down the stairs.

As soon as he heard my foot touch the last step, Heero threw something at my face without looking to see if I was paying attention, and luckily, my reflexes engaged in time for my hands to catch it.

If it had broken my nose, I swear he still probably would have found some way to make it my fault.

"Wonderful. Leftovers," I muttered as soon as I realized what I held in my hands. "Makes the raccoon look that much more appetizing, eh Quat?"

Quatre, already perched on a stool at the wobbly table, was looking like he was preparing to bolt at the slightest indication of danger from me or Heero. On hearing my comment though, he relaxed a hair and tossed me a knowing grin; he was munching away on his own package of condensed, flash-dried, nutritionally-stuffed cardboard. Probably didn't have any saliva in his mouth to comment, the crap tended to suck you dry. I went over and rummaged through my duffel bag until I found what I was looking for— a small bottle of hot sauce. Quatre pulled a face as I applied it liberally.

"You're disgusting, you know that, Duo?" He wrinkled his nose and mimed shoving a finger down the back of his throat.

I smirked at him, and pointedly added a few more shakes. I was going to pay for it dearly later with bathroom breaks—I swear the stuff takes a direct route through your digestive tract by eating through your stomach lining, and I didn't exactly have the heartiest stomach to begin with when it came to spicy stuff - but who knew when I'd get to bug him like this again. "What's disgusting is you can eat it like it is. Might as well start chomping on the drywall."

"Yeah, but... hot sauce? For breakfast?"

"Don't knock it 'til you try it, Quat," I smirked.

He grimaced. "That's the problem... I did."

"I wish I could have witnessed that!" I crowed, slapping him over the shoulder and causing him to choke.

His retaliating look warned me that if I didn't shut up now, I'd be needing to duck and cover very quickly.

I busied myself making coffees for the three of us, using the time to wipe the grin off my face and took a bite of my own over-glorified breakfast chock full of calories, iron, and protein every time I could force myself to swallow it.

Sneaking a look at Quatre, I pulled the hot sauce bottle back out of my pocket and waved at Quatre to gain his attention.

"Duo, he'll murder you!" Quatre hissed, spraying a mouthful of crumbs over the table in alarm as I pantomimed dumping the remainder of the hot sauce into Heero's coffee cup.

"He may murder me, but it was worth it seeing you do that," I laughed, sticking the unopened bottle back in my pocket as he lunged for it.

"Living area's wiped down, so if you touch anything clean it off." Heero startled me by reappearing from nowhere at my elbow, and plucking his coffee out of my hand. At least this time I didn't chuck it at him. He gave Quatre, who was still in mid-lunge, a strange look.

"I did the upstairs already," I added, earning yet another look of surprise from Heero. At least it looked like he missed my sabotage attempts on his coffee.

I fished a couple of laxatives from my bag and snuck a couple of caffeine pills out of my pocket while I was at it, washing them all down with a swig of my coffee. About the only thing military issued rations were lacking in (besides taste, of course) was fiber. They were actually called Meal, Ready-to-Eat, or MREs for short, but over the years, soldiers with a lot more time on their hands then me, had had come up with a variety of alternative meanings for the acronym including Meals Requiring Enemas, and Meals Refusing to Excrete. My personal favorite was 'three lies for the price of one; it's not a meal, it's not ready, and you can't eat it.' Hence, the laxatives. Nothing too strong mind you, just enough to make sure you could 'go' when you needed to. Better out than in, and all that.

"This is the versed." Heero tossed a vial at Quatre, stooping to get something else out of his pack.

"Shit, where'd you pick that up?" I stuck a hand out and snagged it casually in mid-flight before Quatre had the chance, squinting to read the label.

Heero didn't answer, and I didn't bother looking at him. He was probably giving me that look that made him look like a disgruntled camel. I was well versed in that look.

"If the guard looks like he's under two hundred pounds, give him one unit. If he's over, give him two."

"And if he's a beached whale?" I muttered for Quatre's ears alone, earning myself an exasperated grin.

"_Then give him four_." Heero's jaw clenched minutely; every word carefully enunciated.

Busted.

"And this stuff is safe?" Quatre asked tactfully, steering the conversation back on topic.

Translation; would it kill him?

"I suppose that depends on how good you are at guessing body weight," Heero replied shortly, giving off the impression he didn't give a damn one way or another. And throwing all the potential blame onto Quatre, of course.

I scowled at him. "Could you be a little more vague? If the guy dies, it _may_ attract attention."

"I'm not going to be there to hold his hand, Duo. If the guard stops breathing because Quatre gave him too much, then he dies."

Apparently, that was all there was to it for him.

"Well, you're a ruthless bastard, aren't you?" I told him pleasantly, a sneer betraying my tone. "No regard at all for human life. You do realize we're trying to win a war to _save_ the planet, right? Not pick 'em off one at a time. You sure you joined the right side?"

"Duo-" Both Heero and Quatre spoke up then, one looking ready to insert his coffee cup down my throat, the other sorely wishing he hadn't brought attention to himself.

One guess which was which.

"No, no-" I waved my hand at both of them angrily, "before I shut up, I'd like my opinion noted that I think this whole mission is grossly flawed. Suicidal even. There is absolutely no reason why three of us are required to break in-"

"Duo, you've already... made your opinion noted," Heero answered, sounding remarkably like he was trying not to choke on the words. "And it _does _require all three of us. We can't pull off an infiltration of this scale-"

"So you're admitting you need us?"

"Until I can figure out how to be in three places at once, yes."

Oh god, that was nearly a joke! I fully expected him to combust in front of me.

"The Gundams-"

"-have no place at a base like this! You just said it yourself, Duo, we're trying to save human lives."

"With some planning, we could still protect the civilians on that base, and-"

"And how are you planning on doing that? Give them a call? Get them to issue an evacuation notice? Because that's the _only_ way you're going to guarantee the safety of civilians.

Poor Quatre's head was bouncing back and forth between us like he was watching a tennis match.

"You don't know that, Heero! We could come up with another-"

"I _do_ know that," he hissed, startling me with his vehemence. "Every time we do a job like this, we put civilians in danger. The Gundams only increase that risk. So no, Duo. We're not using the Gundams."

"Huh," I muttered, turning away from him. "Maybe there is an iota of humanity in you after all."

I missed the pained look on Quatre's face. Heero's too.

As much as I hated to see his logic, Heero was right. Had this been the usual kind of military base, we would have tackled this the usual way—Gundams, in and out in an hour tops, and it would have most likely been a solo mission rather than tying up the three of us. That was really the sticky point with me. Three of us breaking in tripled the chances that something would go wrong, that we'd get caught, killed, and all those other joyous consequences that came with attacking an OZ military base in broad daylight. In this case, there was a huge population of civilians that lived and worked on the base in the ammunition factories that we were going to destroy—the whole base was more like a small town really.

So with the Gundams ruled out, that only left us the stealth approach. Heero was to hack into their computer servers, copy the lot and destroy the rest; I don't know what the hell 'They' were looking for, but that's why we were the grunts, and 'They' the evil masterminds. Maybe they didn't know what info they were going to get, which is why they wanted Heero to copy the whole damn lot, or maybe they were worried he'd waste too much time if he rooted around the system for one specific thing. I don't know. I frickin' hate computers, I really do. I can do basic hacks, we all can. But if something went wrong, Heero was the man for the job, I was big enough to admit that. You can't just do a little soldering here and replace a piston there, and that's what screwed me up. They spoke a language- well, more like a few dozen-I didn't understand, literally. Now, tell me to fix an engine with a rock and a pair of pantyhose and I'm your guy. I'll take hands on any day.

Quatre, in theory at least, had the easy part of the mission. Break into the security room, incapacitate the guard, upload a program that would delete any potential footage of our break in, and replace it with a copy of what it had recorded for the same time span yesterday. But because he was venturing further into the base than either Heero or I, he also had the highest risk of been seen and captured, and though he had all the infiltration training that the rest of us had, he lacked any real practical application. Don't get me wrong, the guy has proven himself to be more than capable the few times I've seen him in action, it's just... the whole thing made me uneasy. I was used to working on my own, and I would have much rather done the break-and-enter part myself, but there was stuff to be blown up and I was positive no one would be capable of setting up the little monsters I had planned for the job. I'd had to get creative—I was limited to supplies that I could physically carry in, which rather limited my actual initial explosive potential, and so the whole operation would be one part planning, and two parts improv, depending on what I found when I got there. I'd neglected to tell Mr. Military that little flaw for obvious reasons. I was used to flying by the seat of my pants... it would just give him a wedgie.

Heero started triple checking our packs, making me a little leery as he rifled through mine. He had all the same training I had, and while the explosives I did have in there may not do too much damage to a military base on their own, they certainly would make a Very Big Boom in the middle of the kitchen floor. Besides, him touching my self-assembled 'bomb making' kit, my knives... it made me feel like he was going through my underwear drawer or something. I wish the guy would just trust me to do my job. You didn't see me going near his laptop to make sure he had the latest OS installed or anything. I was just glad I had the caffeine pills in my pocket.

I took the opportunity to study him while his back was to me. It was still bothering me, the fact that he didn't dream, and yet fascinated me as well. I wished now that I'd braved a trip into his mind sooner. The opportunity was gone now, if this job went according to plans, I wouldn't be seeing him for awhile. Hell, if it didn't go to plan, I'd probably never see him again.

Was it common for him to not dream? Or had he simply just not slept last night? I ruled that out immediately, if he hadn't been sleeping, I wouldn't have had the chance to get pulled in. I wondered if he even realized...

He turned around before I could look away and I knew I was busted.

"If you're done staring, maybe we could do something useful? The mission perhaps?" Heero's tone was as sharp as ever, but his expression was unreadable. I wonder if he knew or cared about the impression he left.

I choked back the urge to do something incredibly self-satisfying, like blow a raspberry at him, and settled on a nice, mature shrug. "Just makin' sure you weren't going to have any little accidents with the explosives. The C4 isn't ordinary play-doh, ya know?"

It may have been a suppressed laugh or a snort that followed; probably the latter, as if he would be stupid enough to confuse the C4 with something so... civilian. I didn't bother to get clarification, it was probably better to keep things civil, for today at least. Six hours and I wouldn't have to deal with him again until the next time we were forced to put up with each other's company.

That should have made me feel relieved, but it didn't.

Heero Yuy didn't dream. And that intrigued me.

* * *

**A/N: **Get ready for explosions next chapter! LOL. To everyone who reviewed, _thank-you_. I'm a shameless review hog, and they spur me to keep updating as quickly as I am. The explanation as to Quatre's non-traceable identity was unfortunately put at the end of the previous chapter instead of this one, but like I said, it will be explained later on. Hope you all keep reading and enjoying!

**TanithNight:** I found your review funny (funny ironic) considering I'd already written this chapter, especially in regards to the beginning, lol. Just keep in mind that just because Duo says something, doesn't mean it's true, or what I think. And if that sounds vague, good, because then I'm not spoiling any of the plot for you, lol. Thanks for your kind review.

**Kelkatan**: Thank you for what was probably the most amazing review I've ever had. Seriously. I was glad to hear you liked the raccoon part as that was added in on the day as almost an afterthought. I'm glad you find the characters to be in character also. Some of your theories are amazingly close to the truth, others way off, but I loved reading about them. Thankyouthankyouthankyou, lol!

**wind dancer 1981**: You've stuck with me through all my stories, so thank-you once again for your kind review. I hope you're enjoying this story. ^_^


	4. Chapter 4

Ah man, these chapter just seem to be determined to come out at or around 10 pages long. Hopefully that's good with you guys. As usual, all mistakes are my own, due to my bad habit of editing after I get it back from my beta reader. Just to warn you, the rating will go up in later chapters.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 4**

**06:22**

Needless to say, Heero's meticulous outline for our job accounted for every single second of the mission including how long I was allowed to pee for, and at which millisecond I inhaled and exhaled. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating slightly, but you get my point. But as rigorous as these details were, they unfortunately did not account for one thing.

And that would be Mr. Raccoon.

After the civil debate/leisurely gourmet breakfast, I repacked my bag for the third time – I didn't completely trust Heero to have put everything back where I'd intended it. Quatre shouldered both his and Heero's packs, leaving Heero to clean up the kitchen for prints. I grabbed my own bag, and the camping stove with my free hand, balancing it awkwardly against my hip. It was a waste, but it'd have to be dumped separately – a shiny new camping stove in a shack that could be carbon-dated from the Stone Age was slightly suspicious.

According to Heero that is.

You know, I still wasn't convinced that anyone would be able to find this place - even if they'd desperately wanted to. The only way _I'd _found it was on an overhead fly-by, using Deathscythe's heat sensors. Had Heero not been there at the time, I'd no doubt still be doing loser laps around the forest-

- Damn. Guess my theory of Heero being coldblooded has just been shot, if he registered on the heat sensors. Oh well, I can still hold on to the possibility he's a descendant of an extraterrestrial race. Though if he's their idea of a peace ambassador, we're screwed.

I'm getting off topic here. Long story short? Heero was lead on this mission. If I thought he was behaving like a paranoid schizophrenia, that was my prerogative. It didn't change the fact that Heero had the final say. Ergo, the stove was destined to spend the rest its hapless life as a lawn ornament for the crayfish at the bottom of the river.

Quatre backed out of the house as to hold the screen door open for me, and in doing so, trod squarely on the raccoon from the night before that had passed out on the front porch after a hard night's scavenging. The raccoon wasn't too impressed by being woken up this way, and after letting off yet another impressive stream of hissing and spitting and extricating its tail from under Quatre's boot, it went tearing up the closest object.

Which happened to be my leg.

"Geez!" I yelped, staggering into Quatre and accidentally whacking him in the shins with the stove. "What the-"

I spotted teeth. Rodents that dumpster-dived for food did not have the right to have teeth that long. I began to panic.

"Get it off! Quat, get it off me!"

"I'm trying," Quatre huffed, dodging my foot as I flailed it about wildly trying to shake the cretin off. "Stay still already!"

"Stay sti – Quat, it's trying to eat me!" I howled, hopping across the porch on one foot.

"Well you wanted to eat _him!_"

"You're joking? You're making an actual joke about this?" I griped incredulously. "Are you kidding me?"

"Just. Stay. Still," Quatre ground out, making another futile lunge and only succeeding in pulling a handful of fur out of its tail. Needless to say, this did not improve the raccoon's mood. Or mine, for that matter.

"Stay still? And then what, Quat? Ask it politely to vacate my leg? Get a damn stick or something!"

"I'm not going to beat it -"

"Beat it? Hah, I'm asking you to kill it!"

"Duo, it could be endangered."

I stared at him with as much disbelief as I could muster while two-stepping back towards him. "Quat, it eats garbage. It'll out live the cockroaches!"

Let me just clarify here, that I grew up on L2. I am well-versed on the capabilities of cockroaches.

"What's going on?"

That, of course, was Heero. Heero, who apparently thought cleaning fingerprints off doorknobs was more important than me being attacked by _his_ nut-case raccoon judging by how long it took him to appear. There was no doubt in my mind that he hadn't heard the ruckus outside; the noise volume rivaled a decent-sized riot. He looked at me, looked at the raccoon, and quickly managed to put two and two together. He strode towards me just as Quatre yelled, "Duo, watch out!"

The warning didn't come soon enough. In my frantic dance around the porch, I'd neglected to keep an eye on the rotten floorboards.

And so I went through one.

Or just about. But Heero's reflexes, for once, were on my side. He grabbed me by the collar and a good portion of my hair just before I got to see what was living under the porch. And for a split second, everything went calm. I hung there, suspended in mid-air, wafting slightly in the breeze in Heero's strong grip. Quatre was gaping in a most undignified way. The raccoon forgot to spit. With his free hand, Heero jammed his fingers into the corners of the raccoon's mouth and pried it open, forcing it to let go of my pants. As soon as the jaw released, he grabbed it by the neck and with one swift motion, tossed it unceremoniously in the the bushes.

"Thanks... Heero," I stammered slightly as he set me down. I didn't look like much, but I was heavier than I looked, and I was definitely tall than Heero. And he'd just picked me up with one hand. He could probably toss me in the bushes just as easily as he had the raccoon.

"Did it bite you?" he asked gruffly, not meeting my gaze. Probably a good thing, my mouth was hanging down so far I was bringing new meaning to the phrase 'spit-shined' shoes.

"No. Don't think so. You know. Baggy pants," I offered dumbly. Hopefully I'd be able to handle a complete sentence in the near future.

He grunted and knelt before me. Before I realized what he was doing, he'd pushed my pant leg up revealing way more leg than should be shown in polite company.

"Geez, Heero, could you give me some warning before you molest me?" I jumped back in alarm, and nearly fell right back into the hole I'd made in the floor boards.

His only response was to hike the leg of my pants up even higher until he found what he was looking for. One long finger traced the red welt on my skin – the only evidence of the whole bizarre ordeal. I shivered.

His bland expression didn't change as he let go of the cuff and stood up again, finally meeting my stunned gaze.

"Skin's not broken. You're fine."

I wasn't so sure of that. Heero turned and grabbed his pack from Quatre, and jogged down the stairs; all events apparently forgotten as he checked his watch worriedly. We were, after all, I exchanged a questioning look with Quatre, who just shrugged in response.

Mutely, we shouldered our packs and followed after him. I took the rear, dropping back so I was as far away from Heero as I could get.

But my skin still burned in memory.

**07:03**

You know, compared to the rest of the morning, our trek to the base was downright snore-worthy. We breached the perimeter fence of the base together and then Heero took off - he was heading to where the servers were stored, in a separate building secluded from the rest of the main buildings. That left me and Quatre to break in together. That made me feel slightly reassured as I'd have a chance to study his techniques and give him some last minute pointers. Duo Maxwell, cat burglar extraordinare; that's me.

Hell, it meant I never went hungry anyway.

"A whole conversation, Quatre," I hissed excitedly, one hand instinctively pulling him out the line of sight of a surveillance camera that he'd mistimed because of my distraction. "One whole freakin' conversation without a single death threat, swear word, or derogatory comment made about family origins."

Quatre was going crossed-eyed, with the tip of his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth slightly as he appraised the key-card lock in front of us. I'd already pried the panel off for him and was preparing to keep the door jammed open when he sparked it.

"Well, I knew it would happen one of these days," he answered finally as the wires gave a satisfying crackle, the light changed to green and the door clicked open. I braced myself against it with my back as he snapped the panel face plate back into place. "Now you can have sleepovers, and braid each others hair."

Damn kid has a sassy mouth on him. I knew the blond-hair, blue-eyes thing was all a cover to his evil dark side.

"Cute," I snorted, letting him enter the room before I extricated myself and let the door slam closed. "I've been a bad influence on you. He so much as looks at my hair the wrong way and I'll -"

"- And we were just talking about how well you two were getting on," Quatre mused innocently, glancing at me slyly as he took his pack back out of my hands.

"Twice in one day is asking too much, you've got to take these things slow. Besides," I added thoughtfully, "it doesn't count as being rude if he's not here to hear it."

At least it didn't now.

He rolled his eyes but refrained from commenting. Though, if I'd been him, it would have been something along the lines of 'you wanna bet?'.

We skirted down the hallway with only one adrenaline-inducing close call as we were trapped in plain sight waiting for a timed camera to make its circuit while heavy boots approached from behind. I turned expectantly, preparing to disable the guard if necessary, and nearly sent Quatre flying into camera view as I clobbered him with my pack, which I'd forgotten I'd been wearing slung casually over my shoulders.

"Sorry," I hissed out the corner of my mouth, not taking my eyes off the hall.

"Yeah. Ready in six..." he whispered back, distracted. I could feel him tensing up in preparation to run as soon as the camera cleared.

I mentally finished the count he gave me, preparing to turn on number two.

But Quatre had already planned for that, and had blindly grabbed out to me, not taking his eyes off the camera, and onto the first part of me that he could reach.

"Good grief," I grumbled as I found myself being towed backwards by my braid, which had been minding its own business lying over my bag until Quatre came along.

Quatre glanced over his shoulder and let go with a sheepish grin when he saw what he'd gotten a hold of.

"Yeah yeah," I griped moodily, facing our next door and prying off the entry panel with a little more force than necessary. "It's too long, it's a liability, it can be used against me, I should cut it off – I've heard it all before."

"No, it's not that," he assured me as he handed me the wire strippers. "It's just – "

"What?" My voice was muffled through the utility knife clenched between my teeth for safe keeping. I looked over questioningly when he still didn't reply and found him to be red-faced and shaking as he struggled to not laugh.

"It just... you'd think this was our first time breaking into something," he chuckled, gingerly taking the knife out of my teeth and tucking it back into his belt. "You should have seen your face when – and... oh dear, and you hitting me with your..." he trailed off, clapping a hand over his mouth to keep quiet. Both of us were well aware of the guard somewhere near by.

I couldn't help myself, I began to laugh along with him. It was refreshing to be working with someone that found the humor in every situation rather than put me down for my lack of professionalism. If you could call being a Gundam pilot a profession.

The good mood didn't last long though. All too soon we had to split up. If everything went according to plan, I wouldn't be seeing him again for quite awhile. Hell, if I was really lucky, I _would _see him again. But odds were, in this war, one or both of us would be dead before we had that chance. I wasn't pessimistic - that was way too negative sounding. Just... practical. I've found it's always better to be practical than to get my hopes up. Less disappointing that way.

I shoved my hands awkwardly into my pockets and turned to face him, really not wanting him to go on on his own. "Are you sure you're going to be okay from here?"

God, I suddenly felt like I was dropping him off at the doorstep after a first date or something; that awkward feeling of not knowing how to say goodbye. I almost began looking for keys to fumble with.

"Don't be ridiculous," he snorted, pulling me into a hug. "A couple of locked doors aren't going to stop me."

"It wasn't the locked doors I was worried about," I retorted sweetly, unable to fully relax in his hug. It wasn't that I had a problem with hugs; just the first date vibe was still playing out. Except it wasn't worried parents peering out the window who'd be catching us, it was gorillas with guns.

Oops. _Guerrillas_ with guns. Personally, I don't see much difference.

"Duo, we will see each other again, don't worry."

There he was again, with that uncanny ability to read my mind. Or... emotions. I smiled sadly, but didn't want to be the downer on his optimism. He was the first person in a very long time, who I'd dared to care about. We'd only known each other for a few months... days in reality when you consider how much actual time we spent together, but he knew my biggest secret. And he still cared about me too.

"I know we will."

It wasn't a lie in the most literal sense of the word. I believed in some form of life-after-death after all.

"Duo..." he hesitated slightly, "if I don't see you before..." he trailed off again, deciding that wasn't the right path to go down, and floundered briefly.

"Just say it, Quat, we're both big boys here," I sighed.

"Fine," he replied shortly. "Look, I know you think he's the epitome of all things evil in the world, and that he's out to get you, but... just give Heero a chance. He's curt, abrasive, and about as pig-headed as you are -"

I pulled a face at him in mock offense.

"You're going to argue with me on that?" he snorted, raising one eyebrow in challenge before continuing somberly, "Trust me on this, Duo. Okay? Don't trust him, I wouldn't dare ask THAT much of you -"

"Gee, thanks."

"Honestly! He's not that bad when you get to know him... and if you wanted to tell him about... certain _things_, I think he'd understand." His hand ghosted up to his chest absently, and his face went slightly vacant. "You should have felt him-"

I waited, but he didn't finish that thought. He shook his head and gave me a wan smile. "He'd understand."

I nodded seriously, not wanting to leave things between us on a bad note, and turned to walk in the other direction before things could get any more complicated.

**07:17**

I stuck my comm. link in my ear, and wedged myself into the first unlikely-to-be-occupied-easily-penetrated room I could find. It turned out to be an old classroom masquerading as a storage closet, and was crammed, now I mean _jam-_freakin'_- packed_ with desks, chairs, boxes, buckets, you name it I could probably scrounge it up in there. I could hardly move for crap that was in there, but seeing as I had some time to waste I decided to poke around and see if I could find anything useful. It was more to keep my nerves calm than anything; there was nothing I hated more then waiting around while other people were out in all the action. It didn't help that I was popping caffeine pills like they were going out of style, and had only had one decent night's sleep in the last four. I still got a kick out of the fact that the most annoying person earthside was who I had to thank for that sleep.

As a testament to my distraction, I shoved some copper wire into my pocket absently, and then had to pull it out and wonder where it came from. Seeing the spool at my feet didn't make me feel any better, but at least some part of my brain was actually focused on the damn mission, however tiny a portion that was.

I edged further into the room, literally crawling on my hands and knees under stacks of desks when I had to, and finally made it to the opposite wall where there was a large pile of things covered under a ratty blue tarp which had spiked my curiosity. Did I mention I don't deal well with nerves? I was coated in dust, covered in cobwebs and it felt like a massive spider had crawled into the collar of my shirt, though I tried to convince myself that it was just scratches on my neck acting up.

There wasn't anything useful under the tarp; in fact, I only succeeded in giving myself another shower of dust. Actually, there were a couple of old cans of gasoline, which I could have put to use except I didn't feel like crawling back the way I came dragging them along, and they certainly wouldn't help me sneaking inconspicuously down the corridor.

Naturally, I was under a desk when my comm. link finally crackled to life, and I whacked the top of my head on the metal brace. I stuffed a grimy fist into my mouth to stifle the curses.

"Duo, what's your twenty?" That was Quatre, of course, sounding unusually chipper. I wondered if he got to see a bit of action on his way to the surveillance room. Hell, it'd brighten my day.

"Under a _freakin'_ desk," I griped, giving up the pretext of keeping my clothes clean and pulling myself to the door on my stomach using my elbows and knees. Apparently there _was_ a use for being forced to crawl under barbed wire in basic training.

"Duo..." Mr. Pissy Pant's voice warned. I'd wondered how long it'd take to set him off. Let's clarify, for _me_ to set him off. It was a new record; I'd only said four words.

I flipped him the bird and sorely wished he could see it, but I managed to keep my tone in the realms of level as I replied, "He asked where I was. I _was_ under a desk... A left, two rights and a left from where I left you, Quat, second door in the first sub-basement, west side."

"Copy, Duo. A left, two rights and a left," Quatre replied. Even I could hear the bemused smile in his voice. At least I managed to amuse somebody around here,

I brushed as much dust off my clothes as I could, which only led to me inhaling most of it. I stifled a series of sneezes in my sleeve and shouldered my pack. "Have any problems, Quatre?"

"No," he replied after a second, sounding a little distracted. "That drug worked wonders. Didn't quite knock him out, but he's quite content to be trussed up in the corner talking to his cat."

"There's a cat there?"

"Nope," he chuckled. "You're clear to proceed, Heero, there's no one in your vicinity. Duo, turn left out the room, follow the hall to the end, then go right."

I frowned, pinching my eyebrows together as I tried to bring up a mental picture of the blueprint I'd seen of the building the night before. That didn't seem right. "Quat, are you sure?"

"Quite positive, unless you want to join Dumb and Dumber having wheelie-chair races in the hallway."

I snickered at the image, and was pleasantly surprised at the silence from Heero. We weren't exactly keeping up with radio etiquette; keeping talk to a minimum like we were supposed to even though it was a scrambled frequency. And I certainly didn't use aliases- what was the point of using a damn code name when you had a non-existential identity? It'd confuse me more than it would them, I'm sure.

"Anyone... I should take precaution around, Quatre?" I purposely pitched my voice slightly higher than normal and left a long pause, hoping he'd pick up on the hint. I didn't want to run into anyone sleeping on the job. Not that I'd be doing much running if I did.

For a minute I didn't think he'd heard me, or didn't understand, but just as I was about to ask again, he replied, "No one nearby, but I'll keep you posted." I wondered if Heero was listening, and if he was what he thought. Either that both of us had gone slightly loopy, or he just didn't give a rat's. Then I replayed what Quatre had said. No one nearby... that just made me laugh that some of the base's security was actually sleeping on the job. Brilliant. Like I'd said before, big morons with bigger guns.

I exited the room and took the route he said, keeping all my senses on alert. That was the thing about having someone else doing your scouting, like Quatre was for me. People tended to get sloppy, forgetting that just because the scout couldn't see someone in camera view, didn't mean a 'someone' weren't there. We had, after all, used that to our advantage to break in in the first place. I advanced as far as he had cleared me, and turned to face the closest camera, giving him a thumbs up.

"I see you, Duo." Quatre's voice was loud in my ear compared to the absolute stillness of the building around me. "Take the door on the right at the end of the hall. Go down the stairs..."

That was the problem, I realized then, nearly forgetting to listen to Quatre's instructions. The stillness. Where were the soldiers; the guards? They certainly all couldn't be sleeping on the job. An active base like this shouldn't be this dead. They should be up with the sun, running drills, having inspection. It'd takenen me three days to figure this out; had this whole flipping mission been run through properly from the start, I'm sure one of us would have picked up on that fact before we'd broken in the damn place and were past the point of no return.

I couldn't help myself. I shivered. I just had that feeling that things were going to go sour.

In all my years of being Duo Maxwell, I'd learned that things were never this easy.

**07:31**

The feeling didn't go away, even as I finally made it into the main production room where they were going to be making and assembling the ammunition casings. This was my target. Blow this place up and we'd put a dent in their large-caliber ammo production for a good while—namely, the bullets that supplied their mobile suits. Why get rid of the ammo when I could get rid of the source? The facility was still being stocked and undergoing routine tests to make sure it was up to par—better safe then sorry when you're messing around with this much fire power. It also meant that before normal working hours, this particular area was locked down from general foot traffic. All I had to do was make sure no janitor was stupid enough to have wandered in or something equally 'just my luck'.

I began scouting around to see just exactly what I was dealing with- namely how big a radius the blast would have to have, whether it could be all rigged to just one detonator or if I needed secondaries. My main concern was if I'd have enough fire power to handle it- that worry was soon eased as I spotted the RDX and TNT. Copious amounts of the stuff in fact. Apparently they were closer to starting production then we'd initially thought. All I'd been banking on finding was some gasoline or cleaning chemicals. All you need to do is look at pictures of meth. labs to know that even regular household crap can make a Very Big Boom.

I cracked open my pack and set to work, taking small bars of C-4 and molding them into the shapes I'd need. There was a reason I'd nicknamed this stuff play-doh. I swear, explosives shouldn't be this fun to play with.

Now that I had a good idea of what I was working with, I was a little disappointed. Quatre could have totally handled this, though I was maybe a little quicker with the math, and that was merely because I'd had more practice.

Have I mentioned I like blowing stuff up?

It was tricky, this early in the morning to figure how much C-4 I'd need to create the blast seat and heat necessary to catch some of the RDX and TNT, without blowing up the whole damn base. I didn't care if the stuff caught on fire later on, most of this stuff was stable enough that an actual charge was needed to detonate rather than flames alone. I just needed to prevent the whole base from being sent space-side...or down through the earth's core to Russia. The more I could make this look like an accident, the better.

It was tedious work, and for a while I was lost to anything as I wired, paused, calculated, added C-4, moved barrels of trinitrotoluene, and it took me a while to figure I wasn't exactly alone in my head.

"Oh shit, Quatre?"

"What's wrong, Duo?" Quatre sounded worried, but confused. Whatever he'd been saying moments before hadn't been directed towards me.

I sighed in relief, and looked around for a camera, giving him a tiny wave. "Nothing's wrong, just realized I'd been tuning you out. Sorry man, did I miss anything?"

"You had one guy heading towards you about a minute ago, only a single guard. Looked like he was doing patrol. He went into the bathroom and then headed back the way he came. Heero's still in the clear."

"Excellent," I squeaked, slicing my thumb in the process of trying to strip a wire. That's what I got for short-cutting the job with my hunting knife and not digging my wire-stripper out. "How's Mr. Catman? Sleeping like a baby yet?"

"Not quite." He sounded amused. "He's debating the pros and cons of long-haired versus short-haired cats with himself. And losing apparently."

"Stop the presses. You know you're cut out to be a security guard when..." I joked absently, trailing off as I looked up into space, using my finger against the roof as I tried to do a complicated bit of cross multiplying. I always forgot to negate the common numerator and denominators, and that was so not a good thing when I was trying to work out primary explosion potentials.

Apparently Quatre noticed too. "What _are_ you doing, Duo?"

"Math," I growled with a strong 'duh' undertone, struggling to hold the numbers in my head before I had to start all over.

He got the hint and waited until my finger had stopped moving on the imaginary chalkboard. Satisfied with the results, I made no further alterations. My brain was doing the fuzzy thing, where it felt like it was vibrating from the strain of doing that much intense math in such a short space of time, so I started rhyming off the multiplication tables, starting with two times two until it passed.

Quatre downright giggled in my ear.

"Sorry, I was saying that all out loud, wasn't I?" I groaned, feeling my face flush bright red. I busied myself rigging the detonator until it receded. I was only glad Quatre had a black and white view of the world, and wouldn't notice my face, though I supposed it was too much to hope Heero was as involved in his work as I had been just a few minutes earlier. "Listen Quatre, I just have to pack up my stuff and I'm gone, so you should start heading out too. You don't want to be here when this shit goes off."

"Copy that." His voice turned serious as soon as he had something to do again. That was one good thing about him, he could slip in and out of mission mode like it was nothing. I envied him a little bit. Even Heero didn't have to point out that was my one flaw, I had a hard time acting serious when I had to. Like I said, I was used to working on my own, and when you went solo you did what you needed to to cope. That attitude tended to rub people the wrong way. "As far as I can see, you should have no problems on the way out."

"What about you Heero?" I asked finally. The guy had been so quiet throughout the entire thing that he was making me downright nervous, though I'm sure Quatre would have informed me if he'd up and died or anything.

"Nearly done. I have ninety-seven percent left on the document transfer." Heero's voice answered right away; slightly vacant, but he'd obviously been paying attention. I flushed all over again, thinking about my blunder from earlier. Sometimes I wish there wasn't such a direct link from my brain to my mouth, it really would make my life so much less embarrassing.

"Right then." I straightened up with my pack, and looked into the camera. "Quat, get Crazy Catman back into the chair and haul ass. Both of you remember to check in with me before you ditch the comms, I'm not hitting the switch 'til I know you're in the clear, and _no arguments,_ Heero." I added on the last part as a not-so subtle dig at Heero; we'd already had numerous pissing matches over that little issue and he was downright livid that because I held the detonator, there was nothing else he could do about it besides stomp his little sneaker.

That image made me laugh. Reminded me of that girl in the blue dress that'd tried to shoot me when Heero'd held her hostage. She looked like the type to stomp her foot to try an' get her own way.

And yeah, I was still feeling a little hostile about that too.

But it was okay. Things were about to go apeshit here, courtesy of me and that always cheered me up. I was good at making things blow up. Having Heero blow up at me all the time just added a whole new section in my definition of 'explosives expert'.

**08:27**

Quatre called himself clear before me, something that surprised me a little, though was once again a reminder to me that he was more than capable. Hell, if he wasn't capable he wouldn't be piloting a Gundam in the first place, but I had to remind myself of that constantly. It was just that the guy had a ..._goodness_ about him, I guess, that always tricked me into underestimating him. If he ever learned to really exploit that, he'd be one unstoppable dude.

There was that whole 'blond-hair, blue-eyes' thing working in his favor again.

I suppose I was so worried about Quatre, and so confident in Heero, that it came as a shock that Heero got himself captured first.

I was just reaching the boundary of the base, where the fence nestled up into the woods when Heero called clear, and I triggered the detonator to start the countdown. I cued the timer on my watch out of habit, even though the mental clock in my head automatically started running back too. We now had ten minutes until things got a little hairy and we had to put as much distance between us and them as we could. And that was only if my calculations were correct. One of these days I'd learn to carry a calculator.

...hopefully before I blew my own ass up.

I was nearly over the fence when I realized I still hadn't seen Heero, and I stopped to _really_ listen in case he'd already made it over the fence and into the trees. That didn't seem likely, knowing him, he would have called clear the moment the data transfer hit a hundred percent and not when he was completely off the base, just to spite me. The guy should have been heading out the same way as me, but I had a clear view of the doorway, the forest and everything in between, and I hadn't heard a peep from that direction at all.

"You're just goddamn lucky I got to play with explosives today, Yuy, or I probably wouldn't be coming to check in on your sorry ass," I muttered grimly, wondering if this was somehow going to come back and bite me.

Correction, how many ways this could come back and bite me.

I chucked my pack over the fence, cringing slightly as I remembered I still had a small amount of 'play-doh' in there somewhere, and hoped the damn pack would still be there when I got back. It'd be a pain in the ass if I had to scrounge up some of that stuff all over again. You couldn't exactly get C-4 from the grocery store. I pulled my knife out of my boot with my left hand and my gun from its holster with my right and began to carefully approach the building, keeping my gun ready, but not trained in case I got a little trigger happy if or when Heero decided to finally appear. This was exactly why I cleaned the damn thing before a mission that didn't call for a gun in the parameters.

I was thirty feet from the door when it opened, and at that precise instant I knew I had gotten myself stuck in some deep shit. My vision was gone even before my brain even registered the fact that I needed move _now _and I wheeled on the spot, nearly toppling over from the abrupt sensory loss. I'd had just enough time to note that Heero's limp form had been suspended between two men, and that meant I had to put distance between us before I was trapped there too. Heero doesn't do 'limp'. Not willingly.

Already my mind was having trouble focusing, as the pull of Heero's unconscious mind lapped at the edge of mine. I tried moving my feet, but the 'oh shit' panic feeling had already set in- I'd lost all sense of which way I had to run, which was safety and which would end in me getting shot. An image of an old shoe overlapped...a neon...something, appeared in the darkness; already some part of Heero's dream was filtering in. Yet another part of me registered that fact- he _was_ dreaming- and filed it away to freak out about later. Assuming I got the chance to see 'later'.

As a last ditch attempt to bring myself out of it, I jammed my knife to the hilt into the side of my thigh. I was still with it enough to feel the knife bite through the muscles; I think I may have screamed, or swore or something, but for a few brief, precious seconds I had clarity. I ran, tried anyway, but I only made it three steps - already the darkness was trying to claim me. I pulled the knife out, preparing to stab myself again, but then the world turned sideways, my stomach inverted and the last thing I remembered was the clock still counting down.

Eight minutes, seventeen seconds.

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**Aynessa**: Thanks for the awesome review. ^_^ Glad you've been liking it so far, and I hope you continue to do so. I always love reading about people's theories, etc. I may just take you up on your offer to beta-read. Let me know if you're still interested- maybe, if possible, how quickly it would take you do read a chapter of roughly this size and get it back to me.

**A/N:** Thanks everybody for the wonderful reviews. I hope this chapter, and all the following ones will continue to meet your expectations. Next chapter will be up in about a week! (and then the fun begins...)


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**: A huge thanks to **Aynessa **for beta-reading this chapter. Everyone should drop her a line and tell her how fabulous she is. ^_~ She also reminded me that not everyone will understand some of the medical terms I use in this fic. With that in mind:

**Aspirate**: is the introduction of foreign material into the trachea and lungs. Ex: when you swallow food and it 'goes down the wrong way'.

**Hypoxia**: basically, the lack of oxygen to the body.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

**08:28:43**

I staggered as the world spun, tried to orientate myself, but couldn't – this wasn't any normal dream I was stuck in. Heero'd been knocked unconscious, or drugged or something, and because his brain couldn't get a focus on anything, mine couldn't either. I shut my eyes, and even though I could still feel the world lurching around me, it wasn't as painful. Being in his mind right now was like being sucked into someone who'd drank themselves into an alcoholic stupor - painful, nauseous... like being in 'Scythe's cockpit in a gun fight with no safety harness. I only hoped that someone else's dream couldn't make my actual self puke. After all I'd accomplished, that'd be a pretty pathetic way to go. Here lies Duo Maxwell... aspirated own breakfast.

There was a... thrumming in the background, a... whooshing sound. The only thing I could tantamount it to was the sound of those fetal heart monitors. It was a constant amidst the ever-changing environment, the upheaval in Heero's mind, so I focused on it, tried to slow my racing heartbeat to match it, encouraged it to grow louder, to suffocate every other sound and it seemed to, for a time, even though I had absolutely no control over someone else's dreams.

I focused on that sound, allowed the cadence of it wash over me until it all but swallowed me up, even though all I wanted to do was curl up on the damn ground in a ball with my hands over my bleeding ears and cry. Slowly the chaos ebbed, minutely at first until it just all fell away.

I chanced opening one eye.

And then the other.

I didn't recognize the surroundings. We were in a meadow. Blue sky, lone cloud, green grass. There was nothing else in sight; no buildings, no flowers, no birds... there wasn't even a damn sun in the sky. Heero was there too; I knew he would have been, staring right back at me—no, past me, with a familiar, determined expression on his face.

And then he leapt.

He flew up until he was twenty feet above my head and just hovered there, or floated, or whatever you want to call that sensation of moving in zero gravity. No, that wasn't right... even in zero G he wouldn't be able to move like that. He did back flips and somersaults and dive bombed the grass, gliding along so low that his abdomen skimmed along the blades of grass. He used his hands to increase his momentum again, and he soared so high above me I thought he wouldn't come back. But he did reappear, landing with his back to me. And when he finally turned so I could see his face, he was smiling. Nothing big, nothing to stop the presses about, but it was there. Two, upturned corners of the mouth complete with a curvature in the middle, a slightly flushed face, dilated pupils...I stepped forward, not even realizing myself what I was doing until I was in front of him. And unable to help myself, I slowly brought a hand up to his face to trace that smile-

"No," he whispered, as the invisible sun flickered and the world fell from under us again.

**08:29**

When the haze cleared, I knew immediately where we were. The cockpit of Heero's Gundam. Nearly identical to Deathscythe's except for an additional yoke. I was impressed with his memory to detail at I looked around, all the buttons and switches were in the right place, every single damn one. The center-stick had a light groove worn into the side, and even as I turned around I whacked my head on one of the upper storage cabinets just like I always did in my own Gundam. I wondered if Heero did that too. When I turned back to face the main screen, he was strapped into the pilot's seat, and that's when things went crazy.

Re-entry. Undoubtedly the wildest, most dangerous and easily the best adrenaline high you'd ever get in your life, guaranteed. There was something about speeding to earth like you were suicidal or something, that you didn't get anywhere else, like the most dangerous game of chicken you'd ever played. Only you were always the chicken, because the Earth was unrelenting, and if you fucked up it would whip your ass every single time. 'Course, you only messed up once...

I loved reentry.

Plain and simple. There are some truly fucking awesome pilots out there that never would amount to much because they couldn't handle that, the ground-bound trips. But there was something liberating in being so committed to something, to feel the G-force compressing you against the seat until you felt like you were going to pass out, to see debris burning up around you, and know that once you were on the track, there was absolutely nothing you could do except cross your fingers, hope that Someone out there was feeling merciful, and ride it through to the other side. Even callous men like the Sweepers found religion going through reentry.

I was about to go through it now.

Unrestrained.

And Heero laughed.

I looked up at his face, and saw an expression that could only mimic how I looked during reentry. He looked alive, and free, and had that whole 'bring it on, up yours, Universe' attitude, the only way you could fly without having your mind screaming doubts and insanities at you. Proximity alarms blasted, and his hands adjusted, and I felt the slightest of lurches from the secondary thrusters and the whole time his eyes never left the awe inspiring sight in the view screen in front of him of as the Earth grew bigger and bigger. With a thud, I smacked into the back of the cockpit as the G-force hit and I could tell Heero felt it as well- he whooped and hollered and laughed and for one brief moment I didn't recognize the person he'd suddenly become.

I couldn't breathe.

My vision swam, both from the hypoxia and the blow to my head from when I'd hit the back. I felt a stab of pain in my thigh, and I managed to peel my head away and look down. Blood ran freely, soaking the floor of Heero's cockpit, and then the pain became too much to bear. I began to scream, but it was cut short by the sudden lack of oxygen in my lungs. I wasn't wearing an astro-suit. As the world dimmed around me once again, Heero suddenly twisted around in his seat, meeting my gaze.

"Sorry," he whispered sadly.

Then we made impact.

**08:31**

I felt a hard floor under me. The coldness of it sent shivers through my body, and even though I just _knew_ I was no longer bleeding, the chills made my leg throb in memory. When I finally staggered to my feet, sweaty and disoriented, I noticed I was in a crowd of people. The coolness wasn't isolated to the marble floor, but lingered in the air as a dreary gray mist that clung to everything and everyone. I looked around for Heero's familiar face, but had trouble amidst all the featureless faces that blurred together until they seemed to form a solid and yet somehow insubstantial wall around me. I listened for him, but couldn't hear him over the hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional twinkle of forced laughter.

The image swirled around me until I felt like I was in the eye of a storm, the only part where there's calmness. The impenetrable mist grew darker and felt as if it was closing in on me-

And then, just like that he was there. A chip in the wall, a brief break so I caught a glimpse of color, of _him_, with his back to me, spine straight, tense, fists clenched at his side so hard they visibly shook. I threw myself into the mist, fighting, kicking and screaming at all the empty faces who paid me no attention to let me though, let him go, for god's sake just to fuck off and leave us be.

He must have heard me some how, even though the fog seemed to swallow up my voice so even I couldn't hear anything but that damned clinking and chatter around us.

His face froze in an expression of absolute livid rage when he recognized me, and I didn't dare to move.

"Out!" he shouted, brandishing his arm at me.

**08:34**

I was in darkness again. The kind of darkness that you could see in, where it seemed as though the background was painted black and not because there was an absence of light.

The whooshing sound was back too, though, now I could finally stop to think, I wasn't sure it had ever really disappeared. I began to wander around, but couldn't bring myself to take more then a handful of steps in each direction in case I got lost.

The sheer absurdity of that though made me laugh bitterly- get lost into where? I was already lost; lost in Heero's head, in his memories, or dreams, whatever they were, lost without an explanation at the weirdness.

I wondered if I could get so lost in someone's head that I'd never come back?

Just when I was beginning to get worried at the complete absence of... well, anything, there was a tap on my shoulder.

"Heero?" I whirled around, and stared at him in confusion. No one had ever interacted with me in dreams before. No one ever recalled seeing me there when they woke up. Spared me from some damn awkward questions, I s'pose.

"Duo," his voice was flat, his face blank, both as devoid of anything as the ambiance around us. "Duo. Get out of my head."

And then he decked me.

**08:35**

"Oh god," I mumbled groggily as I slowly came too. And then hurriedly threw myself onto my side, pulling my knees to my chest and began heaving- the motion, the blow to the head and the disorientation exacerbating every other ache and pain. It was about that time I learnt that ration bars come up about as easily as they go down.

As soon as I was able to, I collapsed onto my back and just allowed myself to lay there until my vision was returned to me. We were in a van. The turbulence of the ride wasn't doing anything to ease my stomach. My migraine was brewing in the background. We'd been caught. I wanted to be sick all over again. We'd been caught, and we'd destroyed their computers and a freakin' _bomb_ was about to go off, and if we didn't all die first, I'm sure I would later on, slowly and painfully. Wouldn't the irony just be... well, ironic if I got myself killed by my own bomb?

I was well on my way to a full scale panic attack when I heard something stirring at my feet, but before I could investigate the noise I saw Heero sitting up. Duh...of course he was here too. Why else would I have been unconscious for this long? I wasn't the one that got knocked out after all. He had two large purple welts forming on the sides of his neck. Contrary to popular belief, there are a lot more effective ways to incapacitate someone than knocking them over the head, and a quick knife-hand strike to the neck was one of them.

"What the hell happened?" I hissed at him angrily, as soon as he looked like he'd completely rejoined the land of the living. Now that the initial relief had passed of not being completely alone in here, I'd quickly progressed to being pissed that he'd hit me. Or...had thought about hitting me...or whatever the hell you wanted to call it. But there was no recognition, no residual anger in his expression. He obviously hadn't remembered me wandering around in his head.

To be completely honest, he didn't look like he knew his own name.

"I-" he broke off into a coughing fit which he hastily struggled to muffle in his sleeve. At least as much as the handcuffs would allow. The blow to his neck had obviously done more damage then just knocking him unconscious. "I could ask you the same question," he rasped finally.

"I came looking for you. You called yourself clear, you goddamned asshole!" I snapped back as quietly as I could manage, in case our captors still hadn't realized we'd come to. "Do you have a fucking problem understanding what 'clear' means? 'Cause last I checked it didn't mean 'I'm ready to be blown up now, push the trigger', it meant 'safe'. Safe, meaning not in the immediate-fucking-vicinity to a goddamn bomb! Do you want to get your arrogant ass catapulted back to the colonies? Because if you have some sort of sadistic death wish to get yourself blown up, kindly do me the favor of warning me first, or better yet, pull the trigger yourself next time! Don't make me the fucking oblivious scapegoat to your brain dead plans."

"I don't think-" he started, before breaking off into another painful spasm of silent coughs.

Had I not been feeling so utterly miserable myself I would have pitied him, but instead I took the rare opportunity to speak freely and pounced like I'd never have the chance again. "Yeah hotshot, that's the problem. You didn't think. No shit. So what, you get yourself captured and think that my calculations are going to be wrong so you get your ass blown spaceside? We're a fucking team, Heero, whether you like it or not. Where's the fucking plus side out of that, huh? What good could you dying possibly bring, except-"

I felt briefly as though just been on the wrong side of a blow to the head. Things shifted out of focus—Heero wasn't as with it as he was trying to pretend. We had to get out of here before he passed out again, as much as some sadistic little part of me would have just liked to leave him there. I'd lost my knife when I'd been captured, I had nothing to snap myself out of the haze. So I went with the old standby, and bit down on the inside of my cheek until I felt blood gush into my mouth.

Oh god that hurt.

"You still with me, Heero?" My voice sounded shaky, even to me. A chuck of flesh flapped in my mouth; I think I got a little carried away. I tried spitting the blood out my mouth, but it filled back up just as quickly.

I'm a little too proficient in this self-harm thing.

"Heero?"

"Mm?" Heero blinked at me owlishly, vigorously shaking his head. He looked slightly more alert afterward. He felt slightly more alert too.

"We have to get out of here!"

No reaction.

"The bomb?" I hissed, earning a satisfactory expression of recognition from him. Better late than never, I suppose.

I wiggled my butt backwards until I was more-or-less sitting upright, and levering myself up with my back braced against the wall, was able to get my hands from out behind my back. As soon as I got a good look at the hand cuffs I started to laugh- joke stores had better quality cuffs then this. If there was any question in my mind that our captives knew who they were dealing with, it was answered now with a resounding 'hell no'. They probably shit a brick when they saw Heero in the server room, panicked, knocked him out, and were now wondering what the hell they were going to tell our parents and their supervisors. Everything else after the panic was a mere formality.

I didn't even have to pick the lock- it would be an insult to my picks to do so. I gathered a mouthful of blood and saliva and spat, using the lubrication to slide my hands out. It was pathetic. Why even bother putting them on if you're going to leave them that loose? Heero studied his owns cuffs for all of a nanosecond and with one sharp jerk, snapped the chain.

"Show off," I muttered moodily, grabbing him by the elbow and hauling him up until he was beside me. I tried to catch a glimpse out of the front window of the van to see where we were and what kind of guys we were dealing with.

And then my bomb went off.

I guess I'd gotten a little paranoid with how much explosives were needed to trash the factory. I'd rather go with that than my calculations were off, because no matter how much I stressed to other people that I _could _fuck up, I never had before.

That, and I was using stuff slightly stronger than was in your average Molotov cocktail.

The initial shock wave alone caused the van to lurch precariously and nearly tip over. The driver panicked, naturally, but then the idiot had to try and figure out where the noise had come from and not at where he was going. We ended up fishtailing from side to side, Heero and I were thrown around with little regard to gravity until finally the van hit something solid, launched and rolled onto its side, sliding along the ground with a painful shriek from the metal until it slammed into a building.

For a brief second there was silence. Stillness. I was now 'down' and Heero had landed on top of me. He wasn't exactly a lightweight either. Both of us had been stunned, and it wasn't as if Heero had been entirely with it to begin with. I had no idea as to the condition of the driver, or his sidekick. Totally fine or dead. I wasn't waking up in his head after all.

Man, there was something entirely too wrong with that statement.

"Okay, 'Ro?" I forced out in question.

Stupid question really. 'Are you still alive?' would have been the more appropriate one, or even 'please tell me your heart is still pumping that necessary red sticky stuff round and round your plumbing', but even I knew there was a time and place to be a smart-ass, and this wasn't it.

"Huh," he grunted in response, sounding remarkably like he'd horked up a hairball. He shifted on top of me, pushing on my shoulder as he tried to get up.

It says a lot about what the combination of adrenaline and several near-death experiences can do to a person when his movement- that not-so subtle friction against my body- sent off fireworks ricocheting off in my chest down to my groin.

Oh, this so wasn't happening right now.

I stifled a moan, not entirely sure I could pass it off as one brought out of pain, before I realized that there was actually real fireworks going off outside the van. Explosions to be precise.

Then the base erupted into action. What sounded like air raid sirens began to howl all around us, orders were shouted from loudspeakers, but barely distinguishable over the other chaos. I heard vehicles racing by us, but none stopped- one overturned shuttle van wasn't important compared to several buildings being blown apart from the inside, thank god for the small favor for us. Several more minor explosions went off, further away this time, not that that made me feel any better.

In my experience, you can never be far enough away from a bomb going off. Especially one I designed. This was exactly why I'd known the mission was doomed from the get go. You don't do proper recon, and look what happens.

"Duo?"

Heero was looking at me, his hand held out in offering. I hadn't even noticed him finally get to his feet.

"I'm fine. We need..." I tried to get a focus, casting my mind out as to what the hell I did need; what next best step was, but things were getting foggy.

"We need to go," he finished for me, not unkindly. I grabbed his hand, clasping him around the wrist and let him haul me to my feet, my shoes slipping on the slick metal.

"Ah...shit," I groaned, peering blearily at the all-too-familiar thick puddle of blood at my feet that I'd slipped on. It was only then I noticed how badly I was bleeding. It wasn't only from my mouth, but from my self-inflicted stab wound in my thigh that could have happened a lifetime ago for all I knew, a gaping wound on my forehead from where I kissed the asphalt when I passed out, not to mention all the latest additions from the crash.

"That isn't good," Heero replied uselessly, following my gaze.

No shit, Sherlock. Glad your highly trained powers of observation are on our side, wouldn't want you to fall into enemy hands. 'That isn't good' – good grief!

He scanned me quickly from head to toe. "Where's it coming from?"

"My... left leg, I guess," I mumbled, grabbing a hold of a seatbelt that was now where the roof should have been, thanks to the van's overturned position. "Thigh."

There was no way he could have seen it, not with my dark pants, and definitely not in the dingy interior of the van, where the only light filtered in from the front windshield. He found the tear in the cloth and ripped it wider apart to see.

"Hey!" I pulled away slightly as he revealed a fair bit more leg than I was comfortable with, even if I was bleeding to death. "I liked those pants."

"Needle and thread," he offered peevishly, using his pocketknife to slice a fair chunk of fabric off completely. "Sew your leg back up while you're at it."

"If you'd wanted to cut my clothes off, you could have just been a bit nicer over breakfast," I muttered, clutching on the to that canvas strap for dear life as he constructed a makeshift bandage, tying the knot firmly over the laceration.

"That easy, are you?"

"Bite me," I snapped, even though I was big enough to admit I'd walked right into that one.

He answered by giving an extra sharp tug on the ends of the linen. Just to be sure, I'll bet. Jackass.

I looked down at his work. It was messy, ragged, looked entirely unfashionable, and was about as effective at stopping the bleeding as a band-aid was at splinting a broken bone, but it'd hopefully slow it long enough for me to make it to Deathscythe. And if luck ever decided to go my way today, I'd be able to do a proper job of stitching it up there, unless I'd gone and nicked an artery. In which case, the guy'd only gone and prolonged my misery.

Honest. I'm not a pessimist, it's called practical. Realistic, even.

Whatever had been Heero's problem before, he seemed to come out of the accident better then me. It at least gave him that much needed adrenaline rush, not that the guy needed anymore strength sent his way. While I was testing my leg for stability, he aimed a well-placed kick beside the latch on the back doors, which had already been bulging outward from the crash and grabbed me by the waist, sending me flying through the gap he'd made.

"Geez, Heero, you need to cut back on the Wheaties," I grumbled.

He didn't answer that, only pulled me back to my feet, which didn't seem to want to work anymore.

"Stay."

"I'm not a freakin' dog, Yuy- Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?" I protested weakly, grabbing a hold of a tire as he suddenly let go of me. "Heero, get back here! We've gotta go, are you crazy?"

"Just a minute," he snapped, and squeezed back in gap between the bent rear doors of the van.

"Heero!" I yelled. "Get back here!"

For an instant I wondered if he was actually wasting time to check on the driver, but when he returned, he carried his pack with his laptop in. I shut up then, growing cold when I realized I'd nearly forgotten about the primary objective. It pretty much would have all been for nothing if we didn't leave with the data he'd taken.

He threw an arm around my waist, slinging his pack over his other shoulder. We ran, or rather, half-supported each other as we staggered across the tarmac, me supporting his weight from his bad knee where I shot him all those months ago, him nearly carrying me when I fell to my knees. Blood poured freely into my eyes from my forehead, I was nearly suffocating on the stuff in my mouth, but it didn't matter because now all I could focus on was not passing out.

I don't know how we made it over the perimeter fence. Heero could have thrown me over for all I remember. My pack appeared in my hands at some point, I don't recall finding or Heero giving it to me. I remember shouts, and dogs barking and falling over tree roots which seemed to lunge for me purposely and then Heero telling me it was safe to rest.

I passed out. The world could have exploded for all I knew. I didn't care. I was so done with it all.

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Thanks to everyone who's been reading and a double thanks to those that have left a review also. Hope you're enjoying it still - and hope I've left you wondering!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** As always, a huge thanks to my lovely beta-reader Aynessa. If she was being paid to do this, she would deserve some serious overtime pay. ^_~ I guess it's pretty standard format by now, but just in case I need to tell you, everything in italics is Duo's memories.

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**Chapter 6**

**09:55**

Darkness.

Pressure.

I choked, fighting to breathe, struggling to move the moment I came to.

But every time I opened my mouth, it filled with a dry papery substance that crumbled to dust and clogged my throat. My chest refused to expand under the weight sitting on it. I fought to move an arm, a leg, a finger – anything.

I opened my eyes but it was dark. Pinpoints of light visible, but too far away to make any difference in the gloom.

Something crawled over my face.

A dog barked in the distance.

I passed out again.

**10:17**

Wet.

Water trickled across my face, making me stir again. Several drops trickled into my mouth. A breath of wind ruffled my hair, and something foreign brushed across my nose.

I sneezed.

Opened my eyes.

The wind rustled the leaves that had blanketed my face and suddenly I could see a dreary gray sky peeking through the tree tops. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

I reached for it. Tried at least. For a moment, there was nothing. My arms and legs were still pinned under the great weight sitting on top of them. I strained harder, willing my arm to move, trying to channel even a fraction of the strength I'd seen Heero display. As my hand finally burst out of the earth; dirt rained down on my face.

What?

I moved my other hand. My shoulder locked. I fought briefly, flailing my free arm, struggling to kick my legs, trying to move anything, trying to breathe. I wanted out, out, OUT!

I had been buried alive.

**10:18**

I lay panting on the dirt. One breath after another, as fast and a hard as I could manage until my lungs felt like they were going to explode; like using an air-compressor to fill a flimsy balloon. I lifted one hand to my face.

It was pale, and mottled. A dead man's hand.

The dead man's hand clapped over my mouth as I wretched. I choked it down; bile burned the back of my throat. Couldn't make a sound. Not allowed - didn't know where I was! Unidentified enemy territory... must stay hidden. Oh shit -

A dog barked again. Closer this time.

How did I know that? When had I heard one bark before?

Why were there dogs at the wharf?

**10:25**

I stumbled to my feet as soon as I could, and bolted. Things grabbed at me, tore my clothes. I didn't care. I was determined to put as much distance between myself and my earthy tomb as I possibly could. When my feet finally stopped moving, I looked around at my surroundings.

Trees.

Leaves.

A rock -

– this wasn't the wharf.

A forest? What the hell was I doing in a forest?

_The initial shock wave alone caused the van to lurch precariously and nearly tip over. The driver panicked, naturally, but then the idiot had to try and figure out where the noise had come from and not look at where he was going. We ended up fishtailing from side to side, I was thrown around with little regard to gravity- I looked up, and gaped. Heero was above me, falling face first, eyes closed, looking oddly peaceful amid the chaos. Flames and smoke billowed out of the floor above us; debris rained down._

"_Heero, pull your damn parachute, what are you doing!" I yelled._

_He didn't hear me._

"_Are you out of your mind?"_

_It would be just my luck; I save the damn guy from being the hospital's newest lab rat and it turns out he's got a freakin' death wish or something. Why do I always attract the crazy ones? _

_His eyes snapped open. A hand reached back and pulled the ripcord; he'd heard my voice._

_And the van launched into the air, and everything exploded._

_What?_

That wasn't right... was it?

**10:45**

I was walking. Stumbling; more accurately. When did I get up? Where was I going?

"Away from the dogs."

I jumped. Tripped over a tree root. Fell into a bush. It had brambles.

"Figures."

Oh. That was me talking. Duh. Who else would be wandering around in a forest with no clue in hell what was going -

"_Duo, what's your twenty?"_

"Huh?" I scrambled to my feet, and looked around. There was no one there. I listened intently, swaying on the spot.

Nothing. I had imagined it. There was nothing but trees- trees don't talk.

I began walking again. Determined to leave the disembodied voices behind.

Where had I just come from? Where was I going?

"_Duo, what's your twenty?"_

"Dunno," I answered numbly. Swatted a hand at my ear, as if that would make the annoying voice go away.

"_Duo, what's your twenty?"_

"A forest," I moaned. A tree branch slapped me in the face. A squirrel chattered overhead. Furry bastard. Bet he wouldn't think it was so funny if I hit him with it. Shove it up his butt and roast him on a spit over a campfire. See who laughs then. What is it with rodents anyway? Thought they could just get away with everything because they're small and furry. It's all just an act. That whole blond-hair, blue-eyed-

A blond squirrel? What the hell?

Something about that was oddly familiar. Where had I said something like that before? Blond-haired, blue-eyed... blond-haired, blue-eyed...

"Quatre?" I mumbled hesitantly.

"_Duo, what's your twenty?" _

"Under a freakin' desk," I whispered along with the memory. The memory was so vivid it was like he was here beside me. But he wasn't. There was nobody here. His voice had been... on my comm. link... on that..on that damn military base!

"Oh shit," I groaned, as everything came flooding back.

And then I hit the ground.

**11:17**

"Wha'sa time, 'Ro?" I slurred, and rolled over, trying to get a deadened arm out from under my body. "Sorry... feelin' kinda... woozy." The display lit up on my watch. I squinted at it. Carefully read each digit. One. One. One. Seven. Half an hour. I'd just lost half an hour this time.

Just.

"Heero? Y'okay?"

"Heero?"

I went cold. I'd just remembered. Heero was supposed to be here too. We'd gotten out together. So where was he? Had he been missing all this time? How had I not noticed?

"Heero!_"_

A bit too dramatic. Birds actually took flight. The squirrel threw its nut at me and scampered up the tree. Off in the distance, to my left, I heard a dog bark. And then another on my right. And another, behind. I'd forgotten about the dogs. The base. We blew up the ammo base - _I _blew up the ammo base. Now I was surrounded by people who probably wanted me to die in retribution for that explosion. And that was without them even knowing I was a Gundam pilot.

Gundam! That's it, I had to get to my Gundam. I was safe in 'Scythe.

I scrambled to my feet. Fell. Couldn't get a grip on the wet leaves. I looked down.

Blood. The leaves were stained with blood.

My blood.

I was bleeding.

"Yes, Duo, I believe we've established that you're bleeding," I informed myself. Sounded like something Heero would say, right? Complete with that slight eyelid twitch that meant he was trying not to roll his eyes, because heaven forbid he actually _act_ _his_ _age_. Hell, that twitch nearly deserved it's own name. Now... what would Quatre say?

"Duo," cue the wide eyes and earnest expression, "we should probably take care of that wound now-"

I stopped. Coming from Quatre, it would've sounded sincere. In my deeper-toned voice, it sounded like I was practicing to be a transvestite. Or had fallen on a bar, crotch first.

"Duo, we should probably take care of that-"

"Yeah, I know, you already said that, Q - oh. Yeah. Take care of it," I clued in finally. "Good idea. Stop the bleeding. Clear my head. You always were the smart one, Quat."

"All bleeding stops eventually," Heero snorted. Or, he would have. Had he been here. Which he wasn't.

I chuckled wryly despite that fact. "Yeah, when you have no blood left. Heard that one before."

I braced myself against a tree and balanced on one leg to roll up the remaining tatters of my pants. There was a bandage there already.

"_If you'd wanted to cut my clothes off, you could have just been a bit nicer over breakfast."_

"_That easy, are you?"_

"I still think you're a dick," I grumbled at him.

Heero remained silent. For a change. 'Cause he's usually _so_ chatty.

Or maybe just because he _wasn't_ _actually_ _there_.

"Damn, I think I'm losing it," I groaned.

Quatre chuckled. Would have chuckled. Or he would have patted me on the shoulder and helped me bandage my wound. Unlike Mr. Helpful holding up that tree over there.

"He's not actually there, Duo," I reminded myself firmly.

It didn't make me feel better. Pretending they were here made me feel better. Less alone.

Damn. Only spent four days with 'em and now I couldn't handle being alone. Having someone there to watch my back had made me go soft. Now I was on my own again and only responsible for me. I thought I'd learnt that lesson a long time ago. You can only ever truly rely on yourself.

A quiet voice offered, "I've still got your back."

I didn't even bother to figure out who'd said that.

**11:46**

_Being in his mind right now was like being sucked into someone who'd drank themselves into an alcoholic stupor - painful, nauseous... like that time when-_

"No," I whispered forcefully, dragging myself out of the memory. I wasn't going to remember that. I refused. It was so long ago. Another lifetime nearly. Needed something happy, like... like... yeah...

I smiled.

_When he finally turned so I could see his face, he was smiling. Nothing big, nothing to stop the presses about, but it was there. Two, upturned corners of the mouth complete with a curvature in the middle, a slightly flushed face, dilated pupils...I stepped forward, not even realizing myself what I was doing until I was in front of him. And unable to help myself, I slowly brought a hand up to his face to trace that smile- _

I brought a hand up to his face to trace that smile. To run a finger over those chapped lips, to see if his skin was as soft as it looked-

It went through him. The image rippled, and faded.

"What am I doing?" I whispered.

"Your concussed mind is hindering your focus," Heero supplied helpfully. "Allowing you to dwell on what is easy, and not what you should be doing."

"Oh, is _that_ all," I snapped. "So tell me, Oh Wise One, what should I be doing right now?"

"Finding your Gundam," he said simply. Then, softly, "Am I really so bad that you have to argue with me when I'm not even here?"

I looked down. Kept walking. One foot in front of the other, careful of each placement. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot again.

I didn't have an answer for him.

**13:03**

I was under a bush. Rather, wrapped around a bush. I shifted, trying to move away. A twig poked up my nose.

"How long was I down this time?" I mumbled, with a mouth feeling like someone had sprayed that expanding foam insulation in it.

"Just over an hour," Quatre answered quietly.

"Damn. Hey, you're back now."

"You need to keep moving, Duo." Heero this time.

"Always the slave driver, aren't you, Yuy? Can't you cut an injured guy some slack?" I growled, but staggered to my feet to satisfy him.

"You're not safe yet. You need to get to your Gundam."

" 'Cause clearly you care about my safety, being as you left me an' all," I retorted. "You left me with no pack, no supplies- you left me all on my lonesome with them Ozzies running rampant!"

Good grief, my poor grammar even made me flinch. I knew that'd be the first thing he'd comment on.

But he surprised me. He didn't reply. Quatre had vanished. At least his apparition-self was able to do what his real self couldn't- disappear into thin air.

"Tell me this, Heero," I sighed. "Are you and Quatre alive at least? Are you safe?"

Still silent. Ever silent. Go-fucking-figure.

"Damn it, Heero, don't go pulling this silent treatment crap with me, 'cause I'm not in the mood!" I yelled, loosing my balance and slamming into a very large rock for my efforts. "Tell me!"

"I don't know." He shrugged simply, spreading his arms. "I only know what you do. I'm not here, remember?"

"Right," I sighed dejectedly. There was a long, uncomfortable pause. Was it possible to have an uncomfortable pause with yourself?

"Why are you stopping?" he asked curiously.

"If you're a figment of my imagination, you should know, right?" I shot back moodily. "I need to pee. That okay with you?"

He didn't complain, so I did, making sure to turn away from him; ever-conscious of his eyes boring a hole in my back. I was cursing him as I unzipped my fly- like, ever heard of this thing called privacy? That was until my gut spasmed, and I doubled over, groaning in pain - my groin was on fire. I collapsed against the rock that I'd slammed into previously, unable to stop my bladder, unable to stop the burning.

"Being able to pee's a good thing, right?" I choked out finally.

"There's blood in it."

"Tell me something I don't know." I laughed weakly at my little joke. "Get it? It's funny, right? 'Cause you're me!"

His eyes regarded me sadly. "You need to hurry."

Even I couldn't argue with that.

**15:00**

"Tell me I'm goin' the right way," I pleaded.

"You're going the right way," Heero intoned automatically.

"How do you know? There's no sun... too cloudy... Can't tell which way's west..."

"The moss, Duo. Remember? Northern hemisphere means north side of trees," Quatre reminded me gently.

"Glad one of us 'members." I chuckled again at the weak joke, but stopped as another bout of chills overtook me. "Damn, I forgot how miserable the Earth could be when she wants to."

Quatre snorted. "Remember that snowstorm, Duo? When you and I were stuck in that wimpy little pup tent? _That _was miserable."

"Really?" I chuckled. "I thought that was quite funny. Amusing even."

"Yes, well, you would, wouldn't you," he grumbled good-naturedly.

"Not my fault you didn't believe me when I told you your mouth would freeze to your cup if you weren't careful," I replied innocently. The memory of Quatre, with his lips frozen to the edge of his tin camping mug was too funny. Even better was when he tried cussing at me... though of course without lips to enunciate things, he'd been able to deny that little lapse in his 'good-boy' image.

"I grew up on L4, Duo! A cold day was one where you didn't need the air conditioning set on 'blizzard'!"

"Must've been nice," I mumbled. L2 offered no such luxuries. I shivered again, and rubbed my bare arms briskly before shoving my hands into my pockets.

"Yeah," he sighed contently, with such intense longing that I could almost... feel the-

-_I could feel the heat radiating up from the sidewalk. The air shimmered, the humidity of it making me feel like I needed to strap a snorkel on to breathe or something. A much younger Quatre was sprawled out on the grass on his stomach, idly kicking his feet in the air while engrossed in a novel. _

_I ignored him for the time, content to bask in the warmth. Maybe this is how lizards felt; why they were so content to lay on rocks all day. I could've almost fallen asleep here, except for the irony of it- I was already asleep. All this was an elaborate dream of Quatre's; a longing to be warm again, so desperate to ignore the reality; while the two of us were actually huddled up in our sleeping bags which we'd zipped together, with the wind howling outside the tent._

_I spread my arms wide, and threw back my head to absorb the wave of warmth, feeling quite content to sizzle in the facade while my toes were no doubt ready to self-amputate in real life. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Only the heat; blessed heat. _

_It didn't even matter whose feelings these were. Quatre's feelings, mine; the line was so blurred together it was impossible to determine where his ended and mine started. _

_I wanted to flop down beside him on the grass, and see what he was reading; to feel the grass tickle my bare arms, but of course, I was stuck in this exact spot. I couldn't get too upset. It was nice when the inability to move was the only downside to being stuck in a dream._

"_Quatre? What are you doing all the way out here?" _

_I turned my head at the sudden appearance of the female voice. Quatre jumped, looking around wildly before shoving his novel under a textbook that had been lounging haphazardly off to his side._

"_Quatre, look at you, you're absolutely filthy! What would your father say if he could see you right now?" A middle-aged women hurried over, heels clacking on the pavement as she 'tsked' along in time with them._

"_It's Master Quatre to you," Quatre replied coolly. "And as to what my _father_ would say," he pronounced the word with about as much enthusiasm as admitting to having syphilis, "let me know if you ever see him."_

_She held out her hand triumphantly, seemingly unperturbed by Quatre's behavior. A book appeared in her hand; the same book Quatre had hurriedly hidden. He made a lunge for it, but he was young enough that she was easily able to hold it out of his reach._

" _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn," she tutted. "You know you're not supposed to be reading books like this, _Master_ Quatre. It's unsightly for a... gentleman, of your stature to be reading something with such foul language and ideas."_

_Quatre let his head drop in mock admonishment and allowed his hair to fall over his face, all to hide the fact he'd stuck his tongue out at her. The woman was too quick for him though, and like lightning, triumphantly grabbed his tongue with her thumb and finger, twisting meanly._

_Quatre fell to his knees to try and escape her grasp. But he didn't make a sound._

"Do you really have to show me this again, Duo?" Quatre spoke up softly. "I was a brat back then. It's embarrassing for you to have seen that the first time, let alone again and again."

"Brat or not, she was so out of line she was crooked," I answered him sourly, wishing I could have actually been there to defend my friend.

Quatre gave me a small sad smile. "It didn't matter. They never lasted for long."

"Just... remember the heat again for me. Please? It's getting really cold."

I didn't realize I'd been the one to say that last line.

**16:37**

"Are we there yet?" I did my best whiny five-year old impression. Although I'd never been a whiny five-year old, I was awfully good at it.

"No."

"How 'bout now?"

"No." Mr. Monosyllable was demonstrating his finest work, as you could see.

"Well, when?"

"You tell me," Heero sighed. "You hid your Gundam, not me."

"Yes, but you're not here, right? So technically, you _are _me. Right, Quat?"

"Yes."

"Good grief, not you too. Doesn't anyone know a word more than three letters long?" I grumbled halfheartedly. I was getting too tired to even argue with myself. I closed my eyes for an instant, just to rest them, I swear, and collided with something _very_ solid.

"We're here," Heero replied dryly.

I tried to think up something quick and witty, but by the time I'd figured out what to say, it was neither quick nor witty. Didn't matter anyway. Heero had vanished. Quatre too.

But I wasn't alone.

I'd found Deathscythe.

* * *

**18:30**

It had taken awhile, but he'd finally lost them. Nearly a full day of crashing around acres of dense foliage with about as much subtlety as a near-sighted rhino with a peg-leg, all thanks to a knee which was determined not to follow orders and bend. But it had paid off. They'd given up the chase.

He didn't know why he was going back. He tried telling himself it was to see if his gamble had paid off- burying Duo, covering his face with leaves and brush in the hopes that he wouldn't be discovered. Giving him a chance to escape when he came to. After all, he reasoned, it was the least he could do seeing as Duo had gone back for him.

He'd repaid his debt. That should have been enough, right? He'd done his job. He'd led them away from Duo. Going back was foolish. Suicidal.

It didn't matter what argument or logic he used. It didn't matter that his knee was twice its normal size, and complaining bitterly with every step. It didn't matter that he was having a hard time breathing because of the twin strikes to his neck. Logic wasn't enough to compel him to turn around, as though something were pulling him irresistibly forward. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Something he was supposed to remember...

And so his feet carried him on, away from safety, back to the base. To Duo.

It took him several hours out of his way, and he had trouble finding the spot he'd chosen to hide Duo. But when he finally stumbled on it, he sighed contently.

Disturbed earth. Footsteps. Blood. A jagged trail cutting through the dense undergrowth.

But it was away from the base. Only one set of tracks. Towards his Gundam. He'd made it that far safely, at least.

Heero smiled.

* * *

**A/N:** The next chapter will be delayed by a few extra days. I have a course coming up for work that requires some serious studying on my part, unfortunately. Also, the website Moments of Rapture has a fanfiction contest starting Oct 1. Everyone go and read some amazing pieces of 1x2 fanfiction, and vote for your favorite story! (and hopefully it will be mine ^_~)


	7. Chapter 7

**AN:** Sorry for the delay everyone, but hopefully the longer chapter will make up for it. As usual, a huge thanks to Aynessa for beta reading. Everyone should send her a cookie. ^_~ It should be fairly obvious from reading the chapter, but this chapter takes place over a period of weeks. And the situation at the end should give you an idea where we are currently in the GW time-line.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

**13:05**

Due to my rather extensive experience of waking up in less than desirable places, I now had it down to a science. Don't change positions, twitch a muscle every so often, remember to breathe (which generally is a good rule to follow anyway), and listen. If nothing changed, then I'd allow myself to open an eye, the absolute barest amount possible, to see my surroundings.

Which is what I did now, for the most part. Until I saw that first little glimpse of my surroundings. And saw nothing.

Then I began to panic.

Darkness.

I couldn't move. God, not again. It couldn't be happening again! I tried not to panic, and failed miserably. I was well past panic, and on my way to pure terror. I struggled to move, but I was all tangled up in something. Finally I manged to wrestle one hand free, and bolted upright.

And promptly bashed my head.

A chuckle came from somewhere beside me. I tore back the lee-cloth on the bunk and scowled, thoroughly embarrassed when I saw who it was.

"Geez, Duo, one concussion not enough?" Sully asked innocently, completely unfazed by my glare. He was sitting on a wooden chair in the corner of the cabin that was dwarfed by his massive bulk. Miraculously, not only was the chair managing to hold itself together, but was also balanced on two legs so precariously that one good swell would probably send Sully flying.

"Just tryin' to even up the lumps. Can't have crooked horns, the halo won't stay on straight," I retorted weakly.

"Oh good, so you're really awake this time." He perked up, dropped the chair to the floor and hauled himself out of it.

"As opposed to..."

"As opposed to you babbling on about blond squirrels, air-conditioners and traitorous rats," he replied, quirking a bushy eyebrow. "Guess this means my baby-sitting shift's over. How you feelin', kid?"

I experimented, starting with wiggling my fingers and toes and worked up to fully flexing my arms and legs. A bandage on my leg, and the odd cut and bruise was the only evidence of the last few days. Almost a letdown considering all I went through. "Nothing too bad. How long've I been here? Hang on, how the hell _did_ I get here?"

I remembered the base exploding- nothing wrong with that memory, it was complete with all the crystal clear fireworks and 'oh-shit' feelings. I remembered wandering around in the forest too, though that part was slightly more vague and scrambled in places. The last thing I remembered was finding Deathscythe. And Heero making fun of me. Or... not Heero, I guess, seeing as he'd just gone and abandoned me to OZ in that damn forest. Just his apparition chasing me around the woods for the pure reason of hurling insults at me. But the cross-continental trip from there to Howard's was a complete blank- and that was a very scary realization.

"Aw, not long. Two, maybe three day tops. You showed up in the middle of the night, dropped that damn monster suit of yours on the deck and 'bout gave us poor sleeping sods a flippin' heart attack," he complained with a small smile, reaching up to offer me a hand. I grabbed it, and carefully swung my legs around to hang over the edge of the bunk. "You gonna tell me what happened?"

"I had a moron for a partner, that's what happened," I answered moodily, effectively sidestepping the unwanted question. I took a peek under the bandage, slightly apprehensive of what I was going to find. I remembered all too well that part of the job, and how my knife had cut into my leg like I was no tougher than a loaf of bread. "Howard's work I'm guessing?" I asked, looking at the stitches with an experienced eye, satisfied with what I found. Howard would never be a plastic surgeon, that's for sure – I knew his work by now. Always just enough sutures to get the job done – he'd been a Sweeper for too long, that one. But it'd hold - I hoped.

Apparently my tone didn't match my ongoing internal dialogue. Sully shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "Well, see the thing is, Howard didn't think you'd want to get no docs involved. He got Micha- ya know, that guy that's first mate on Remy's ship, _Lasting Damage? _Apparently he's an old war medic-"

"Wait, you're tellin' me Howard let one of Remy's boys on board his ship?" I laughed, reaching up curiously to probe a large scab on my forehead that I'd only just noticed pulling at my skin.

Sully grinned mischievously. "What you should be askin's if we let him off again."

I chuckled at that. "So what's with the doc-ophobia all of a sudden?"

Sully froze, still with the goofy smile on his face. I had a feeling Micha hadn't left the ship entirely unscathed. I could see the gears turning as he scrambled for an answer. And knowing that look, not an entirely truthful one. "Well, ya know, with you bein' a Gundam pilot an' all..."

"And?" I pressed expectantly.

"And..." he trailed off, refusing to meet my gaze. "And because, well... ya know, we couldn't exactly move the Deathscythe to hide it...bein' that ya sorta...crashed it?"

"Excuse me?" I gaped at him incredulously. "I did what?" I braced myself on his shoulder and jumped down from the bunk, being sure to take the impact on my good leg.

"Only a little!" he offered tentatively, watching me with mild amusement as I rifled through the cupboards, pulling out the first hoodie that wouldn't fit me like a dress. Finding pants was a lost cause- most of them were so big that I could easily fit in one leg. My shorts would have to suffice. I was just glad that here was about the one place where I didn't have to worry about derisive comments being made about my attire.

Confident that I had demonstrated that I wasn't going to take my frustrations out on the innocent messenger, Sully added slyly, "Never thought I'd see the day when you'd go an' make a cock up o' things with that suit of yours. I mean, you? Crashin'?"

I growled, though really more embarrassed than anything, and grabbed a pair of sunglasses, sticking them on top of my head. "Where's Howard, Sully?" I asked before he got too carried away in his teasing.

"Beats me," he shrugged. "I've been stuck here baby-sitting you, haven't I?"

"Brilliant," I muttered. Howard's ship had only several thousand feet of deck space to cover. If I was lucky I'd find him before nightfall. I turned to go, and then hesitated, some of the original panic about my damaged suit fading. "Hey, sorry, Sul. Didn't mean to take it out on you."

"Oh, get going." He waved impatiently. "I swear, you an' Howard would marry that damn suit if it was legal."

"That's...kind of a disturbing image," I shuddered, and hurried out of the room.

Or, _tried_ to.

"Hey, it's Sleeping Beauty!"

I ran headfirst into Franco even before I'd shut the cabin door behind me. Running into Franco was much like running into a tree trunk- he was just as tall, three times as wide, and way more muscular.

" 'Bout time ya woke up! Howard was ready te throw ya overboard- summat about he doesn't cart around worthless cargo?" He tried to feign confusion, but the guy couldn't keep a straight face to save his life. And he wondered why I always whipped him at poker.

I snorted, and my knees nearly buckled as Franco cuffed me across the shoulder with one big, meaty hand. "When I don't see you at the head of the line in the Mess, I'll start to worry, _Franny._ You'd be the first person he'd toss."

Franco roared in amusement, and clapped me again several times before walking away. I was left dazed- Franco was one of those loud, larger-than-life types, that always left you feeling like you'd been smacked over the head with a two-by-four from the sheer power of his voice alone. I was just relieved that his well-intended 'pat on the back' hadn't sent me crashing through to the hull.

Handling the three flights of stairs up to the deck was an interesting endeavor. I ended up taking them one at a time, leaning heavily on the rail trying to protect the stitches as best I could. Several more of Howard's crew stopped to say hello, or do their best at sending me back down the stairs with their well-meant handshakes and back-pats. By the time the third one had stopped, I was beginning to get suspicious - for a crew of only thirteen, the odds of accidentally running into that many of them weren't very good.

All that was pushed to the back of my mind though, when I saw Deathscythe.

"Fuck, what happened?" I gaped, spotting the damage as soon as I walked out on the deck. Dino popped his head up at the sound of the door sliding open, and as he saw me, began to beam down at me from his perch on 'Scythe's left shoulder.

"Apparently you don't pilot well when you're sleeping at the yoke," Dino called down with a grin.

"No shit?" It seemed as good a reply as any. At least it was one step up from standing there with my mouth hanging open catching flies as I took in the damage; from the crushed vulcan cannon on the head to the sheered off pieces of armor on the left upper 'arm'. I'd come out of suit battles with less damage, the fact that I did all this with a simple landing was just downright embarrassing.

"Next time don't try landing headfirst," he chuckled, straightening up and tossing a hammer into the tool box. He jumped down nimbly into the open cockpit, surprisingly spry for his age; then he snagged the tow line, riding it to the ground. He walked over, wiping his hands off on an old rag tucked into the back pocket of his overalls.

"I'll try and keep that in mind," I muttered dryly.

"Good idea. He was still in better shape than you were. How you feelin', kid?" Dino wiped a sheen of sweat from his face, only to replace it with a layer of grease.

"Still breathing, so can't complain," I replied easily, going over to the storage locker to grab a pair of overalls.

"Nah, kid, don't you go suiting up. It's not as bad as it looks, me an' Lenny'll take care of it. Howard would string my up by m'ears if I let you at him; you bein' only just up an' around."

"What else's new?" I joked, as I set down the overalls, not really in the mood to argue with him. I wasn't feeling up to monkey-hopping all over my suit spot welding and banging out sheet metal, but I felt guilty having other people do my work. "Howard uses that threat on you at least twice a day. Speakin' of which, ya seen 'im around?"

He pursed his lips in thought, casually picking up his canteen and taking a long draft before replying. "He was helpin' the boys on the port side stow some cargo from the last salvage run, last I seen 'im."

I groaned internally- even though I'd been preparing for it, the last thing I felt like doing was hiking all the way up and down the deck on a wild goose chase for Howard. Even at half capacity, parts of the deck were only accessible from a different set of stairs, and the deck itself was half a kilometer long from bow to stern. With cargo loaded it'd be like navigating through a hedge maze.

Dino was starting to eye me worriedly, so I forced a smile. "Great. I'd better go hunt him down."

"Yeah, well, if you find 'im, tell 'im I need a rotary encoder for the Deathscythe here. The boys just brought down a load of suit parts from near L3, I'm sure he's got one kickin' around somewhere."

"Just one?" I clarified.

"Yeah. You just bent the axle on the left side and it bunged up the whole lot," he drawled, with a smug little grin. Of course, now that I was looking better, I'd never hear the end about crashing my suit.

"Y'sure you don't need my help?" I cast an appraising eye over towards Deathscythe, eying the visible damage and doing my best to estimate the internal damage.

"I fix suits," Dino told me flatly. "You don't want me near you when you overdo it, as usual, an' pass out or something. Get me the encoder, and if I catch you here after that, I'll make sure you won't be piloting anything peppier than a kayak until you're old enough to vote."

"Love you too, Dino," I told him sweetly, and mimicked putting my halo on.

He smiled as sweetly as he could with oil covering his gnarled face and three missing teeth, and promptly flipped me the bird.

**14:10**

Hiking back and forth across the deck was just as miserable as I'd predicted, and in the end, I didn't find Howard; he found me. I was busy hanging over the rail watching a seagull attempt to steal a little girl's cotton candy out on the pier, and trying not to look like I was on the verge of having a massive coronary. Amazing how a couple days of bed rest sucked the life right out of you. The only thing I posed a danger to right now was myself.

I heard him approaching; Howard was the only person I knew that wore flip flops on a cargo ship of all places. How he hadn't amputated a toe or two over the years was beyond me.

I turned to face him, leaning against the rail with my back. As usual, he was in a obnoxiously bright Aloha shirt and board shorts- and the guy wonders why he frequently gets mistaken for a damn tourist.

He didn't look at me right away. He fished about in his pockets and pulled out a block of wood and a pocketknife, and leaning casually on the rail with his elbows. While his hands got to work at creating his latest masterpiece, his gaze seemed to be directed off in the distance. Though, I was never really was sure with those sunglasses of his. I nodded sharply so that my own sunglasses slipped off my head and slid over my eyes, waiting patiently. We made an odd pair, me and him. I'd once been told I could jabber the ears off a barnacle about pretty near any topic you could imagine. He was more reserved, but when he spoke, it was usually worth listening to. He was old, I was young. I wore mainly black and my long hair often got me mistaken for a girl. He wore every color under the sun, and had hair like the devil- the beard didn't help. Neither of us looked the genius and we certainly didn't act the part either, and yet he'd designed the prototype Gundam and I piloted one. It didn't matter much though. To either of us. Until I'd met Quatre, Howard was the closest thing to a friend that I'd had since Solo.

"So, you still planning on coming to China with us?" He started in mid-thought, as usual. His hands were still flying over the wood; the small blade glinted in the sunlight. Small wood shavings floated down into the ocean beneath us, like little snowflakes. I still wasn't able to discern what it would turn out to be yet. There was no use asking Howard either; he never started carving with any particular thing in mind.

I looked at him in amusement. "When was I ever planning on going with you to China?"

"Well, if you hadn't woken up when you did, you wouldn't have had a choice."

I chuckled. "Nah, me an' China probably wouldn't agree with each other. You've seen me eat with chopsticks. Drop more down my shirt than I get in my mouth."

"Ya know, Duo, I thought you'd finally come to your senses when you showed up here. Ready to leave piloting that suit for someone older."

He had me fooled for a moment; his eyes always gave him away, and like I'd said, these days he'd taken to wearing sunglasses. Probably to prevent his own bright clothing from burning his retinas. Finally, I took my chance and burst out laughing. With that, even Howard was unable to keep a straight face for long. "Dammit Howard, you'd have a conniption if anyone else went near that suit, and you know it. Besides, your business is booming, right?"

"Can't deny that. A couple of your colleagues were nice enough to pick a fight near Puerto Rico, right near one of our salvage boats. Managed to beat Remy's boys there by nearly a full day."

"What 'colleagues'?" I snapped back moodily. "You mean other pilots?"

"Yeah. Damn fine suits they were piloting too, from the sounds of it. Dino was near drooling to get his hands on 'em."

I gave a noncommittal grunt. As far as I was concerned, Deathscythe was the only suit worth drooling over.

"You still having problems with 'em other pilots?"

I startled, wondering how he'd known about that, before quickly remembering he'd already met Heero. "Problems with one other pilot," I admitted reluctantly. "I've only met two of 'em. The other guy's great. But Heero..." I sighed in frustration and mimed wrapping my fingers around his neck. "He's a damn hotshot with a death wish."

"Funny. I coulda said that about you," Howard mused.

"Cute, Howard. Real cute. Of all the missions I've gone on with him, _he's _the one that's managed to get himself caught. Twice! And yet he somehow gets off telling me that I'm the liability because I'm not _serious_ enough?"

"From what I've seen, Duo, none of you boys are perfect," he shrugged, brushing off some wood shavings before turning the block and tackling a different angle.

"Whaddya mean, from what you've seen?" I asked him suspiciously.

He gave me a pointed look that lost most of its effect from being obscured by the sunglasses. I sighed, and rolled my eyes, forgetting that he couldn't see my expressions either. "Right, sorry, I forgot. 'Spacers have their sources' – honestly, you're all like a bunch of gossiping old woman."

Howard chuckled and gave me a little sideways smile.

"Oh come on, Howard, tell me!" I groaned in mock desperation. "What have you heard?"

He didn't answer me for the longest time. I watched as he started filling in some of the details of his carving, with rapid little flicks of the knife. Finally he said, "It doesn't matter what I heard. You need to keep your mind on the bigger picture, Duo. Personality clashes shouldn't factor in when you're fighting a war."

I snorted. "Howard, the whole war is _based_ on personality clashes."

He chuckled quietly. "Can't deny that. But you two are supposed to be allies."

I pursed my lips as I mulled over all that he'd said. He was right, in a way. I had lost sight of the bigger picture, at least temporarily. But I didn't see how having me and Heero at odds all the time was going to help us achieve the bigger picture – putting a stop to this damn war. The Gundams were the colonies' secret weapon, albeit, not so secret anymore. We did them no justice by fighting amongst ourselves. Still, "If we're allies, then why did he leave me to OZ on our last job, huh?"

"Seems to me, if that kid wanted to give you to OZ, he woulda been damn sure there was no chance of you gettin' away from them," Howard mused.

"Short of gift-wrapping me up all pretty-like for 'em-"

"Aw, shit," Howard cursed in disgust, looking at the newly carved model in his hands. He stuffed his whittling knife back in his pocket.

"What's the matter?" I asked, looking at it. It was some kind of bird of prey, that much I could gather from its large talons. Its wings were flared, feet outstretched as if coming in for a kill. I'd seen him carve some pretty amazing stuff before, but never something this detailed in such a short space of time. "It's pretty good, Howard, I don't get your problem."

"Damn birds," he muttered, tossing it over the side. I lunged forward and snagged it; one of the talons was sharp enough to draw blood as my hand closed around it. "I can't seem to get anything else out of the damn wood other than these birds lately."

"Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something," I laughed, bringing the tiny figure up close to my face to study it.

"Yeah, that I'm surrounded by birdbrains," he muttered dryly. "So what now, kid? We're kicking off in a couple days. Sure you're not going to join us?"

"Nah. I'll stick around long enough for 'Scythe's repairs. Then I guess I'll be goin' back to school. At least for the time being - apparently it's what kids my age do. Not that I don't appreciate your hospitality or anything."

"Aw, stuff it, Duo. Don't get all sentimental on me." He waved me off irritably.

"Wouldn't dream of it," I chuckled.

**07:10**

All I had to say, was thank god for alarm clocks. Seriously. If I had to watch my roommate show up to class naked one more freakin' time, I woulda had to kill him. Thank god his stupid History presentation was today, that'd probably be more effective at stopping his reoccurring dream, though my way would've been a helluva lot more satisfying.

I waited until he'd stumbled out of the dorm to the communal bathroom down the hall, and then I slipped out of my bed and turned on my laptop. I knew I was safe for a good half hour- the guy had taken his towel and suitcase of haircare and body wash products. Honestly, if the guy spent one tenth of that time on his freaking history thing, maybe we'd have both managed to get a decent night's sleep.

But as I opened my mail, I realized I wouldn't have to worry about my roommate anymore. Or worry about the lack of sleep- it was evident I wouldn't be getting any for awhile.

I'd spent nearly a month undercover at this school since leaving Howard's. In that time, I'd had a handful of puny missions that barely equated to having an after school job.

Now I had a mission to plan.

**12:31**

I'd spent the morning confined to the library computers. First order of business was arranging for my supposed transfer to another school- that took all of five minutes including the customary swear-fest when the computer crashed the first time. Then it was time to scrounge up all the information I could about OZ's latest plans, and their projected transport route. I finally took a break around lunchtime and wandered down to the cafeteria- I'd already skipped breakfast and my stomach was well on its way to digesting itself whole.

"Oh. My. God! Have you seen him?"

I didn't clue in at first. I was only keeping half an ear on my surroundings out of pure habit, and besides, Felicity was always in a flap over something. Her whole life was dedicated to seeing how short she could get away with hemming her skirt, and boys. Apparently the two were connected somehow.

"Yeah, isn't he dreamy?" Val giggled.

"Now _that's _tall, dark and handsome." Angie was next to join in, leaning over from the opposite lunch table. That piqued my interest slightly- as a goth (evenings only, naturally. School uniform policy was strict and therefore the darkest piece of clothing she could wear during the day was a black pair of socks) she didn't usually associate with the likes of Val and Felicity.

"And that voice? Did you hear it?" Tori added.

"Oh yeah, all low, and husky." Rachel tried to mimic it, and only came off sounding like a life-long chain smoker.

"I think he looks like he's got a monkey wrench rammed up his ass." That was Christy, who happened to be walking by the table just in time to catch the tale end of the gossip-fest. As a proud member of the school's lesbian population, she was the only female present that was not deceived by a Y chromosome and a hacky sack between the legs.

Come to think of it, she was also probably the only girl there that knew what a monkey wrench was. Multi-layered, that one.

Unfortunately, the combined description could only mean one person.

I stifled a groan; suppressed the overwhelming urge to plant my face into my mashed potatoes and never surface again. Why was it that my life seemed determined to burden me with Heero Yuy?

**17:53**

It was late afternoon by the time I found him. When I didn't see him in the hallways or in any of my remaining classes, I finally broke down and went back to the library, using their computers to hack into the school's mainframe yet again. I may have hated computers, but the amount of security on theirs was just asking to be hacked. Like a lock with the key left in- and therefore, entirely useless. Though, I suppose it helped that I'd already been rooting around their system that morning.

Being as it was already the second month of term, it was easy to find him even with him enrolling under an assumed name. The only other student that had registered that month was a Sabrina Wong; judging by the plague of hyperventilation episodes over lunch, he hadn't had a sex change since I'd last seen him. I got his building name and dorm number, and wiped my trail clean.

The door was open when I made it to his dorm room. I reached out to rap on the frame, then paused when I saw him. His familiar beaten up duffel bag was at his feet, but other than that, the room looked uninhabited. Heero was staring out at the window as if lost in thought.

"Do you ever wonder what it'd be like to fly?" he asked suddenly, quietly, not even turning around to acknowledge my presence.

I froze- as in, heart stopped, completely forgetting to breathe, not even able to fire a neuron. Had he remembered? Had it all started to come back to him; the memories of those dreams from that botched mission? The question was entirely too coincidental for my liking.

He glanced back at me curiously, as if confirming I was actually there. Then he pointed at something out the window, a deliberately exaggerated gesture, like I was slow or something. My heart restarted.

I obligingly stepped forward into the room until I was at his side, and followed his finger until I found what he was showing me. A big bird – a hawk or eagle of some sort – was flapping over the parking lot.

"The bird, you mean?" I asked, still confused.

"Yeah. Look at it."

It'd be wrong to say he sounded awed - it'd take a lot more than that to inspire Heero Yuy. But there was something about his expression, his tone, his stance - it was if he'd only just seen the bird as something more than a viable food source. Something more than an annoyance that set off proximity alarms, and occasionally pooped on the view screens of his Gundam.

He cocked his head to the side curiously, his eyes tracking the bird as it suddenly went shooting up into the air.

"He must have found a thermal. Look."

I had to admit, I was more interested in watching him. It was the first time I'd had him talk to me as another human being - not as an ally in battle, not as if _I_ was the piece of pigeon poop. I hadn't even realized he was capable of it. But I looked obediently as he said; tried to see what he saw.

The bird hung lazily in the air, seemingly suspended. Its wings didn't flap. It circled around lower and lower, in tight spirals before finding another thermal radiating off the hot tarmac and shooting up again. I closed my eyes slightly, and allowed myself to think back to that dream of Heero's. The one, where, for a brief instant, I experienced such pure simplicity. There wasn't a sun, because there didn't need to be. There was grass, because he wanted to feel the individual blades tickle his skin. I felt the exhilaration as he flew up high- not because he had to, but because he longed to. I felt the wind whipping his hair- my hair... around our faces. I reminisced about my first time experiencing zero gravity. How a gentle push of a finger could make me go soaring across a room. How...for a moment... everything could seem so simple.

The hawk tucked its wings, tipped its tail feathers, and dropped into a steep dive. I lost it as it disappeared amid the background of trees, but a few seconds later we saw it straining its wings to gain altitude; its progress obviously impeded by the rodent it now clutched in its talons.

"Can you see why early scientists disregarded the concept of gravity?" Beside me, Heero had spread his arms slightly. On his face was the faintest echo of the smile that I'd only witnessed in his dream. But more importantly, was the familiar features I didn't see. The worry lines at his eyes. The constant tension in his jaw.

The hawk finally found another thermal and rode it straight up, nearly half a mile. It soared lazily in a circle, found another blast of hot air and floated out of sight.

The spell was broken.

"What did you want?" He turned and crossed his arms across his chest.

"I just came to say hello," I answered defensively. "And, ya know, to say thanks for letting me know you were still breathing."

"You're welcome."

"Wha...huh?" I spluttered. "Excuse me? Did I miss the news bulletin? 'Cause you sure as hell didn't bother to tell me you were alive."

"I didn't see the point. I thought it was obvious."

"You didn't see the point?" I choked out angrily. "Okay, let's just get something straight here... when we go on missions together, we're a team, okay? That is all the 'point' you need. But in case that's not enough for you, you had all the data! That was our main objective, asshole. If you'd blown it and got your ass caught, Quat and I woulda had to go and get it. _Again_. And maybe we would've rescued you too, though I doubt it, because I'm pretty sure I'd already used up all my good deeds for the day –"

He sighed tiredly. "Duo?"

"What?"

"I'm alive."

"Oh. My. God. Really?"

"Happy?"

"Not particularly," I grumbled, before sighing. "Look, believe it or not, I didn't come to argue with you. I just found out you were here, and I came to ask you a favor."

"What is it?" He looked wary. I didn't really blame him.

"You've been told about OZ's newest plans, right?"

"Yes. They're transporting a shipment of mobile suits. Tauruses."

"Doesn't this plan strike you as a little bit odd? I mean, I've got a bad feeling about this one. It's too well thought out for them."

"Well, it _is_ a trap," he pointed out.

"Gee, thanks, Heero. If I ever have to play a game of state-the-obvious, I sure hope you're on my team," I shot back, biting my lip before I had the chance to blurt out more. Insulting him wasn't exactly the brightest way to go about winning favors from him. I took a deep, calming breath that did absolutely nothing in the way of calming and relaxing me and said, "Look, as far as I can see, there's going to be two routes; one by land, and the other by air."

"It's a logical assumption," he conceded. "If they were going to spring a trap, it would be wise to divide our forces."

"Okay, 'if'? Why's this 'if' coming into play all of a sudden?" I demanded. "I thought we'd actually agreed that it _was _a trap."

"When are you going to stop analyzing every word that comes out of my mouth and make your point?" he retaliated without a moment's pause, his fists clenching at his side. "Is going to be sometime before the next ice age?"

I held up my hands in mock surrender, and took a step backward. I was fairly sure that any punch I got from Heero outside lala-land would certainly put me in lala-land. "Whoa, Yuy, I'm sorry. All I was wanting to say was, from what I've seen, your Gundam's better equipped for aerial battle. Could you take the air route for me?"

He nodded once, apparently slightly mollified by either my apology, or my flattery. "You do realize that you will probably be the one caught in the trap?"

"Why do you think that?"

"You said it yourself, my Gundam's equipped for aerial battle. In truth, my Gundam is the only one of the five that is prepared for _true_ aerial combat. They'll use that to their advantage." The way he said it wasn't bragging. Not in the way I'd probably... gloat a little about a fact like that. It was one of the many little things he did (or in this case, didn't do) that reminded me that I wasn't just dealing with the typical egotistical teenage moron like I'd been forced to interact with the last several weeks.

Good grief, did I just give Heero...a compliment? A roundabout one, but I'm sure I could have found one buried in there somewhere. I wondered if wandering around in his brain had permanently affected _my_ brain. Wouldn't that just top things off.

"Yeah, you're probably right," I admitted finally. "Maybe I'll try and get a hold of Quatre. If my route is the trap, it'd be nice to have some back up."

"Do you really think you need to involve Quatre in all of this?" He sounded skeptical.

I bristled at that. "Quatre's a big boy, Heero. It's his decision. Besides, don't you think they'd be preparing for the absolute worst case scenario? All five of us? If you ask me, three's still not enough."

He gave a little dismissive snort. Apparently he _wasn't_ wanting an opinion from me. I growled, and turned to go. "Ya know, Heero? One day your blatant cockiness and complete disregard for your own safety is going to get you killed?"

He didn't answer. I shook my head, feeling stupid for even expecting one. As I reached the doorway though, I hesitated, and looked back. He'd turned to face the window again, a mirror image of when I'd found him, except now there were shadows cast throughout the room that hadn't been there before. The sun had set, but I don't think he'd even noticed. I could tell he had slipped back into the memory of the hawk. It reminded me of something.

"Heero?" I approached him slowly. It was a good thing I had, he spun about quickly to face me, evidently surprised to still find me there. "The answer's yes, you know. I do wonder what it'd be like to fly. I think about it a lot." And I had, at least, since he'd been the one to dream about it. There was something about his perspective- something completely unique, just like Quatre's dream allowed me to feel the emotions of every single person in his dreams. Heero's dream had been so controlled, and simple, and yet...extremely liberating.

I felt in my pocket, and then held out my hand. Heero's eyes met mine warily, but when he looked down to see what I held in my palm, the corner of his mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly in the dim light.

I had just earned my first, genuine, Heero smile.

**19:57**

It'd be nice if I could have just frozen time at that moment, three days ago. But that'd mean I'd have a superpower - one that was good for something more than leaving wet patches of drool on the carpet, and invading people's privacy at the most inopportune moments.

The scene in front of me could have been from a movie... hell, I _was_ watching on my view screens. I could stop what I was seeing at any time with the push of a button. But why should I? The explosion was just a very well done pyrotechnic special effect. Controlled. Flashy. Perfect movie scene. Just needed some background music- something simple, sad, on the piano or cello.

You know of all the thoughts that could have possibly gone through my mind at that point, I managed to think the most inane one? That Heero had gotten his wish. He'd learned to fly.

It seemed as though, for a brief moment, time had slowed down. I knew that was a distorted perception- I was no more capable of slowing down time than I was at stopping it. It was me that had sped up; somehow, after all the fighting, I still had a hidden reserve of adrenaline left. It enabled me to catch every detail. The wind rustling his hair. His content expression. There was nothing suspending him as he soared though the air. His arms were thrown out from his body- outstretched like a pair of wings. It was almost a mirror image of his dream, where he'd dive-bombed the grass, except...

Blood trickled down his face.

His body hit the ground, in way that shouldn't have been allowed had he truly been flying.

Quatre screamed in pain.

I ignored him. I kept my eyes trained on that damn monitor, willed Heero to get up. He'd survived worse, right? I shot him, and watched him fall out of a skyscraper sans parachute and he'd only broken his leg. We survived a van accident and a bomb going off, and he'd walked away with cuts and bruises. Why should this be any different?

Quatre yelled at me to leave. I killed the sound, hammering my fist down on the console.

Heero wasn't getting up. And suddenly I realized what Howard meant about losing sight of the bigger picture. But I didn't care anymore.

Why the hell should I care about the bigger picture, when Heero wasn't in it?

* * *

**AN:** A huge thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed. Sorry about the delay, and thanks for being so understanding. The next chapter will also be delayed as I have two courses to study for and a seminar but after that, hopefully it'll be back to business as usual.


	8. Chapter 8

Wow, sorry everyone! Real life has been crazy busy these past couple of months for both myself and my beta-reader, Aynessa. Hopefully in the new year we can start adding to the story a little more regularly. ^_^ In the meantime, enjoy this extra-long chapter. As usual, this chapter wouldn't be the same without Ayness's input- I couldn't do it without you Ayni!

* * *

**Chapter 8**

**14:38**

You know how you know you're going to fall the split second before you do?

That was the exact thought that flashed through my head as my foot slipped on a crumbling tile: 'I'm gonna fall'. I windmilled my arms long enough to tack an 'oh shit' on there for good measure. And then my foot slid out from under me and I pitched over sideways, and I experienced that horrible feeling that I get every time I unwillingly go dream-walking, where my stomach turns itself inside out and swaps places with my lungs. Except this time I wasn't inside anyone's dream; this was all too real, and any splat I made on the ground below would be quite permanent. I left a trail of broken tiles in my wake as I skidded down the side of the roof, and rolled over the edge. I flung out both arms as a last ditch attempt and managed to snag the lip of the gutter with three fingers.

"Brilliant," I gasped, blanching slightly as I wafted precariously in the breeze. I looked down, then quickly looked back up, fixating my gaze purposely on the blue sky above. "Just fucking _brilliant_. How the hell do I get myself in these messes?"

That was the wrong question, I quickly realized as my fingers began to cramp. The real question was 'how am I going to get myself out of this situation?'. I reached up carefully with my free hand, trying to catch the lip of the gutter; but before I even came close, the edge of the metal bulged out at an alarming angle. I struggled to keep my grip with the sudden drop.

"Oooo-kay..." I breathed, trying to stay calm. "I won't be trying that again." I looked down again at the ground... which, at five stories away, was way too far for my liking while suspended by only my fingers. I had a window directly below me approximately six feet down, but I was too close to the wall to swing into it, and too far away to just drop and catch the sill.

A shadow cast over me. I looked up in alarm, but could only see a dark silhouette blocking out the sun.

Then the gutter dipped again. My fingers slipped off.

And I was falling.

**Two days earlier...**

**18:57**

We escaped to the Maganac Corp. base; this little safe haven in the middle of the desert. Quatre aimed me towards a room and I collapsed onto a cot, fully clothed, fully armed, and slept for nearly a day. Everything between the two events was a complete blur.

I staggered out of the bedroom just before supper and fell into a chair at the tiny kitchen table with a grunt of acknowledgment aimed at Quatre. Quatre gave an equally short reply; his face was haggard and pale, his eyes bloodshot as if he hadn't slept. Come to think of it, he probably hadn't.

"You look like hell."

"You took the words out of my mouth," I replied, slumping over the table and burying my head in my arms to hide my eyes from the light.

"Really?" Quatre chuckled softly. With my eyes hidden, I was able to pick up an uneven hitch in his step as he worked around the kitchen. "I'd have thought you'd be using a slightly stronger word than 'hell'."

"Well, being as 'hell' is the epitome of all evil, and 'shit' is just something pigeons do, I'd say it's a pretty apt word." I leaned back in my chair, shrugging nonchalantly. "But hey, don't ask me, you're the walking thesaurus."

Quatre laughed again, and stuck a mug of coffee in front of me. "Duo, in regards to the proficient utilization of profanity as a whole, you possess a certain aptitude for the skill, far greater than I could ever aspire to procure."

I blinked. "I can't believe you just spat that out with a straight face."

"Oh, I've done much better. Call it a defense mechanism. People don't patronize me for long when I spout off drivel like that. Don't tend to stick around for long either," he replied darkly.

"You okay?" I asked finally, as he set a plate of food in the middle of the table. He sat down heavily in the chair across from me, wincing with a sigh.

"Didn't sleep well," he replied with a sad smile, confirming my guess. "Nightmares."

"I'll bet," I muttered, giving the food on the plate a suspicious look. "Let me guess... three hundred ways of watching...the explosion, complete with slow motion, surround sound and instant replay?"

His face grimaced almost imperceptibly. He opened his mouth to reply, hesitated, and went through the full spectrum of emotions, before finally closing his mouth and instead studying the purple shriveled thing that he'd picked off the plate.

"That bad, huh?" I gave him a rueful smile, and carefully chose a piece of cheese (one of the few things I could identify) off the plate and nibbled on a corner. "Sorry man, I guess I'm not really the one to talk...fortunately for me, I can't dream about that."

Quatre looked up from the wrinkly purple thing that he was busy dissecting with his fingernails and studied me intently. "You know, there's some research theorizing that dreaming helps you deal with life's events."

"So, whatcha saying? That I can't deal otherwise? You trying to make me feel bad for _not_ having nightmares about Heero d – the fight?" I took a long gulp of my coffee

"I've been watching the news reports all afternoon. They haven't found a body," he replied quietly, resting his chin on his hands to stare at me intently across the table.

"There was an explosion, Quatre," I reminded him, not even bothering to mask my sarcasm. "A big, fiery one –" I mimed something blowing up with my hands; unfortunately I'd forgotten to put my cup down and coffee slopped into my lap. Far from being offended by my sarcastic comment, Quatre rolled his eyes at me.

"I was there, Duo. I saw exactly what you did. I _felt _more! That doesn't mean –"

"Quat, do we really have to talk about this now?" I interrupted, not really seeing any end to this argument.

"Yes, we do!" he replied vehemently.

"Why?" I demanded.

"I refuse to believe he's dead, Duo! The thing with Heero was an accident –"

"An accident?" I repeated incredulously. "Are you sure you were there, Quat? It was no accident. An accident implies it was completely unpreventable – "

"It _was_ an accident! The thing with Heero – "

"Look, it was my fault, okay?" I cried out finally, standing up so fast to glare down at him that I sent my chair flying into the wall. I stood there, trembling with tension... and then he started laughing. It was bitter and jaded and so completely unlike Quatre that my brain couldn't seem to process it.

"Duo, unless you forced him down, beat him and pushed his thumb on the trigger for him without me seeing _and_ without getting blown up yourself, it was not your fault. Heero always does what he wants."

"Did," I amended absently as I righted my chair, swung it around and sat down on it backwards, resting my chin on the back rest. The plate of food we were sharing between us had been completely forgotten. It wasn't as if I'd had much of an appetite to begin with, though.

He ignored me, and laid a hand over his chest appearing to be lost in memory. One of these days I'd have to ask him how his...gift... worked. His was a little more subtle than mine – the ghosting of a hand to his chest was my only clue and even that was only sometimes.

Either that or I'd finally driven him to having a massive coronary. If he turned blue, I'd start to panic.

"Quatre?" I prodded tentatively, starting to get nervous when he still didn't respond.

"I refuse to believe he's dead," he started slowly, after a long pause. "No one's found a body."

"You already said that. You don't... think they're just keeping it quiet?"

"Why should they? You have to think, as far as the Earth's concerned, _we're_ the bad guys. What would OZ stand to gain by keeping it quiet?" he replied diplomatically. Obviously while I'd been passed out in my room, he'd had a lot of time to think. He pushed his chair back from the table and took the plate from between us, stuck a second plate over top of it, and placed it in the fridge. Now he wasn't even bothering to hide the fact that he was limping. "Having gotten rid of one Gundam pilot, well... that's a huge victory for them. They'd make sure everyone knew of it. Now, if we were on the colonies I could understand those reports keeping it covered up."

"If you think he's alive, then why are you having nightmares about it then, huh?" I countered quickly, standing up and stretching cautiously before joining him at the sink. On the counter he'd accumulated all of our belongings that needed to be cleaned or scoured- an odd mixture of dishes, clothes, one lone shoe, a couple of knives that I knew to be mine. The guy was just too damn efficient; he made me feel like a complete slob.

He sighed, and turned on the faucet. "Horror movies can give you nightmares, but it doesn't mean they're real."

"I wouldn't know, would I?" I shot back moodily, nudging him out of the way so I could take over the dishwashing. I thrust my fingers under the faucet to test the water, and then cursed as I was scalded. "Ow, dammit!"

He reached around me to turn on the cold tap, and I stuck my hand under the water again in relief. "No, if they'd found him, they would have been sure everybody knew of their victory. I know you feel the same, Duo. I don't know where he is, but we just have to keep believing!"

Now his optimism was just starting to get downright irritating."For centuries people refused to believe that the Earth was round, Quatre! You can stamp your feet, shut your eyes and sing kumbaya all you want but it doesn't change things. Just because you want to believe something, doesn't make it true."

"Just like you believe it's your fault he did it?"

"That's not the same, and you fucking well know it."

He huffed, not looking in the least bit offended, and picked up a tea towel. "You've said it yourself, Duo; you've said it to me, you said it to him, god, you said it to the _raccoon_ in that blasted safe house two months ago – Heero is a determined, pigheaded rhino, and you have about as much chance at making him do something as you would making the earth rotate backwards-"

"Time traveling," I corrected absently.

"Whatever! Why don't you just tell me what happened between you two? No, don't even start with me," he glared at me threateningly as I began to hold my hands up in denial, brandishing the tea towel. His look alone was enough to make up for the fact that the tea towel had pink and purple flowers all over it. "I know something happened. I don't think he pulled the trigger just because you spilt coffee on his favorite socks."

"I bet he would to spite me." It slipped out before I had time to realize how inappropriate it sounded, but Quatre just laughed.

"Finally! That sounds more like you."

It was a well intended, but poorly executed, attempted at lightening the mood. I gave him a half-smile, fished around trying to find something equally awkward to help relieve the tension... and then just gave up. I didn't have the energy to pretend anymore. Especially not to him. He always got the truth out eventually anyway.

We resumed doing the dishes in silence, though I could see the mixture of disappointment and cunning in his face. I ignored him, figuring I'd worry about the plotting when his plan was put into motion, and just tried to finish the dishes without breaking into tears or laughing hysterically. Dishes gave me this odd feeling of domestication and wastefulness. Water was for drinking. No matter where I'd been in my life, I'd had that drummed into me. Even basic training constantly reinforced the skill to find fresh water. In safe houses, I didn't usually bother eating anything that required dishes—one of the many unfortunate perks of ration bars. Heero generally thought along the same lines as me; it was an observation I'd made more than we'd actually had a conversation about it. Even when we went to the same school together, he still washed his hair in the sink for the first few days until he managed to get himself to accept that we weren't going to run out of water if he took a damn shower. Seeing him do that had made me feel better; that it was my instinct to be 'resourceful' rather than just a bad habit leftover from my street days.

"Quatre – " I started hesitantly.

"Duo, don't. We don't have to talk about this now. Besides... it's a big day for us tomorrow." He smiled one of his mischievous little smiles, the first truly normal Quatre-like expression I'd seen all day.

I was so stunned by the sudden shift in tone, that I almost completely missed the last few words that he artfully tacked on the end. "We don't- wait, huh? Whaddya mean, big day tomorrow?"

"Oh? Didn't I tell you?" he asked innocently. "The village wants to hold a festival to celebrate the safe return of the Maganac Corp."

"And I'm still not seeing the connection... unless you enlisted me while I was sleepin'," I replied slowly.

Quatre rolled his eyes. "We're Gundam Pilots," he said slowly, as if it was completely obvious. "They want to thank us too. And no, you can't get out of it, they already postponed it today so you could catch up on your beauty sleep."

"I have a feeling I'm supposed to say something snarky there, but I'm just too tired," I groaned theatrically.

"Good," Quatre replied smugly.

**11:10**

Quatre finally revealed to me why he was limping. Amidst the arguments and heavy conversation, I'd completely forgotten about that observation. He waited until the very last minute possible, just as we were getting ready to dash out the door – which was highly unlike him, and more like me. I don't know who was more embarrassed initially: me for what I had to do, or him for the position it put him in. That's why, when already ten minutes late, I was dashing into his room with an armful of supplies dug out of the depths of my bag while he... got naked.

Well, not quite. Still, there was enough clothes removed to make me feel uncomfortable and judging by the way the pillows and blankets were artfully arranged, so was he. Trust me, there was a difference between seeing someone naked in a life or death situation, and seeing them naked otherwise. Even though I was a highly trained soldier, and even though I generally saw Quatre filling in more of the brotherly role... unfortunately, I also occasionally fell into that 'typical hormonal teenage boy' category, and he wasn't exactly hard on the eyes.

That's why we found ourselves in the current position; him leaning against the headboard with a pillow firmly held in his lap, and me stitching up the back of his _very_ upper thigh with actual sutures rather than the dental floss he'd been forced to use.

"I don't know if this is gonna work," I surveyed the large wound with a practiced eye, gingerly poking at the edges with a finger. "You should have told me about this before. Though..." I paused, and smirked before continuing. "I gotta say, I admire your resourcefulness." I nodded, getting a dirty look from Quatre even before he knew what I was actually going to say. "About the sutures. I admit, you can't exactly find them in the local grocery store. I'm not sure I would have thought of floss. Good choice on not going with the waxed kind..." I trailed off, shuddering as my mind helpfully provided the sensation of waxed dental floss passing through my skin. "You made a damn mess of it though, you put in three times more stitches than necessary."

"You try stitching the back of your leg at that angle," Quatre growled good-naturedly, pulling a face as I started to carefully snip away at the old stitches. "You probably would have used even more, seeing as you actually use whiskey as an anesthetic. I would have liked to see you do it. You probably would have stitched your ankle to your own damn ass and not realized until you sobered up."

"Quatre, please, language!" I exclaimed in mock horror. He uncovered himself long enough to slam the pillow over my head, and winced when I pulled at the thread trying to duck. "Serves you right," I informed him pertly.

"Would you have done it?" he asked quietly, so quietly that I could have easily pretended not to have heard him. I glanced surreptitiously at him from under my bangs, which conveniently obscured my face. He was staring off in the direction of the far wall, but his eyes were unfocused, not really seeing it. For the first time, I noticed that he had miniature worry lines etched into the corners of his eyes. I leaned back onto my heels, stretching out a kink in my back; he shifted, adjusting his leg so I had a better view at what I was doing. Or maybe so he could ensure I wouldn't stitch _his_ foot to his butt. Bet he was sorry now he'd stuck the idea in my head.

"Duo, would you have done it?" he asked again, still not meeting my eyes, but in a tone too loud to pretend to have not heard. I sighed internally.

"What, used dental floss?" I asked the first stupid question that popped into my head, trying to play dumb. I knew full well that wasn't what he'd meant, and had a pretty good idea what he was referring to, but I didn't want to sit around all day playing the 'guess what I'm trying to say' game. He'd brought the subject up, I was willing to listen, he couldn't go dancing about the subject on me now.

"Hit the switch. Committed suicide. On _orders_..."

That seemed to be the sticking part with him. He seemed to be in disbelief that he actually had to include that last bit.

I sighed, taking a break to stretch out my neck. "Talking about it now? No, never," I answered slowly, not missing the look of relief flash over Quatre's face, "But..."

There was always a but. I wanted to stop while he was relieved, to give up on the conversation while I still could...but I owed it to him to be truthful. He was my closest friend, my little brother. I couldn't mince words with him. "But put in his place...I don't know, Quat. It's the age old question. Sacrifice one to save millions? I'd rather kill myself than live knowing I caused a massacre..."

"That's not my point though." Now it was his turn to sigh, though he sounded more irritated than upset. "Screw the ramifications, the whole morality bit... could you self-detonate because you were told to?"

"No," I snorted, tying the final knot and surveying my work with an experienced eye. "In fact, I'd probably _not_ do it just to spite them. I know what we were all told, Quatre. Don't leave witnesses, maintain secrecy, follow orders, and all the other bullshit tripe they tried to feed us. It's a load of crap. I'm not going to kill myself just so they can say 'well, what a good little soldier...what was his name again?' If and when the time comes, it'll be because I decided it was the right thing to do, not because a Higher-Up deemed it necessary."

He looked mildly relieved, except for a brief look of dismay over my 'if and when' statement. "I sometimes wonder if... I'm right for this. I couldn't have followed that order. But all you others seem so-"

"Hang on, you mean just me and Heero, right?" I asked, confused.

"No... I've met all the other pilots," he confessed, looking away momentarily.

There was something he wasn't telling me. There was that hand again, taking on a life of its own as it drifted up to his chest. One of them had done something, or said something... he could avoid looking at me all he wanted, he wasn't going to end the conversation that easily.

"Well, what are they like?"

"Intense," he breathed, a little sadly. "All of you seem to know what you're doing. They're so confident-"

"And just as screwed up as both of us," I interrupted before he could get too carried away. "I said it to Heero, cocky is not confident, so quit messing the two up. Don't go putting yourself down, Quat. You're a kickass pilot. I've seen the way you get over that machine, your Sandrock. Anyone could pilot a suit- but it's like he speaks to you, and only you can understand, only you can get him to work _with_ you. I get that with Deathscythe too. You need work on the one-on-one shit, but your tactical aptitude amazes me. You put that mission at the ammo base together in three days-"

"And it nearly got you and Heero killed," he interjected.

"No, Heero nearly got us killed because of his incapacity to understand the English language and inability to dislodge his head out of his fat ass," I retorted, ignoring Quatre's confused expression. I supposed it was only fair that one of these days I explain what happened if I was going to keep making vague references about it all the time. "I'll help you on the hand-to-hand combat stuff and teach you to fight dirty if you want. But quit putting these guys on pedestals, 'cause they'll just let you down!"

A flash of... hurt... passed through Quatre's eyes, and I wisely decided to shut my mouth before I could say anything else. I wanted to smarten the guy up, not hurt him more. I debated briefly on pressing him for details but decided just to file it away for later reference. I'd had enough for tonight... enough of trying to explain things that didn't really have answers, enough of holding my tongue.

No matter how much I just wanted to keep quiet, this one last thing had to be said. "Quat, when you're ready to really want to talk about it, truthfully...I'm here."

He shifted uncomfortably, looking away so I couldn't see what else he was feeling. I had a feeling this hadn't been the direction he'd intended the conversation to go. When he looked back, his face was oddly unreadable.

"Thanks."

**13:13**

With everything that had gone on, it was hard for me to believe we'd been there two days already. Stepping out the door was like being back in that wonderful dream of Quatre's, one of the few dreams I made a point to remember and relive – the one where everything was warm, and lazy and made me wish I was a cat or something, and just curl up in the sunshine and sleep all day. Hidden away in the little apartment we'd been given to share, I hadn't felt the heat or seen the sunshine. But it was amazing how the combination of the two made everything suddenly not feel so bad.

Quatre obviously felt the same way. "This is what home should feel like," he sighed contentedly, and threw back his head, closing his eyes against the bright rays of the sun.

"I agree," I replied, staring around curiously at the little village. It'd been after dark when we'd arrived; cold, barren and quiet; streets hidden from even the moonlight due to the tall buildings looming overhead. But now was a completely different story. Colorful streamers were strung between the houses, mingling with the clotheslines. The street we were on was packed with people dancing, chatting, singing; chickens and little children running underfoot, the occasional camel meandering along with a bored look on its face, and vendors selling various different foods set up along the sides.

The men that made up the Maganac Corp were easy for me to pick out of the crowd, even though I hadn't met them face to face. I chuckled as one man was nearly flattened by a woman rushing up, dragging him away from a crowd of young women.

Quatre followed my gaze and began to laugh. "Nine months from now, they'll be another population explosion here."

"Then you can foresee another great celebration in our future," A deep voice boomed from behind me, one that, had I any doubts of my sanity, could be mistaken for a god.

"Rashid, when does the village not have celebrations?" Quatre smiled warmly. "Duo, this is Rashid, the leader of the Maganac Corp. Rashid, this is Duo Maxwell, pilot of the gundam Deathscythe."

"I'm honored to meet you, sir." I paled as Rashid's own dinner plate hand engulfed my own, but after a casual handshake my hand was returned completely uncrushed. "Thank you, for going to all this trouble to help me, and to repair my Gundam."

"We trust Master Quatre's judgment," was all he said, leaving me unsure of whether I was being insulted, or Quatre praised, until I saw the small twitch at the corner of his mouth. I shoved my hands into my pockets and muttered something unintelligible, much to Quatre's amusement.

Two young girls spotted us then, both dressed in outfits as wild and colorful as Howard's and ran up, to hand both of us a flower.

"Thanks!" Quatre told them, giving them a smile that was guaranteed to make any girl in a one block radius swoon.

I gave them my best patent-pending Duo Maxwell cheeky grin, and they both giggled, blushed a marvelous shade of red and ran off.

"They didn't have to do that," I muttered, fumbling awkwardly with the flower. I had the wind nearly knocked out of me as Rashid clapped a hand on my shoulder, with strength that made Franco look like a decrepit old man.

"You boys are heroes to our village. They're celebrating the safe return of the men. _All_ the men," Rashid replied simply. Quatre let off a peculiar sound, making me jump and look around in alarm. Rashid regarded us both in amusement as Quatre and I stared, wide-eyed, as a camel stuck its head over Quatre's shoulder and began lipping at his pockets.

"We're no heroes," I snorted wryly. " We're just a bunch of-"

"It doesn't matter if you don't believe it." Rashid shook his head, cutting me off. "What matters is if they do. The people need heroes, someone to look up to, to keep from giving up."

"See that's what I don't get," I replied in frustration. "Look at this place," I gestured to the camel, who'd given up on Quatre as a viable source of food and was now using his shoulder for a chin scratcher. "You use camels as transport. You have generators to provide electricity. You make all your own clothes, and own food. No offense or anything, but this village probably looked the same as it did three hundred years ago."

"This is true," Rashid conceded, not looking in the least bit insulted even though I'd, albeit in a roundabout way, called him and his people backwards hillbillies. He regarded me thoughtfully, scratching the camel on the nose. The camel in turn spat at his feet. I backed up a step, eying the beast warily. If I'd learned anything in my past few months on earth, it was that animals, no matter how 'cute,' could _not_ be trusted. "Duo, did you know that this area that we live in is often referred to as the 'cradle of civilization?"

I shook my head. Even though I was aware that it had been a rhetorical question, I couldn't help but reply, "No, I didn't. I don't see what that has to do with anything though."

"But it has everything to do with it. The cradle of civilization is believed to be the area where civilization began; where the first villages and markets and permanent congregation of nomads settled. You see our village as backwards; we see it as the way the world should operate, where family is valued, where life is revered... where people can live in peace."

"I get that," I replied in frustration. "But you _could_ live in peace! You could remain in your villages, and no one would bother you. Your village could live in peace, without the threat of losing loved ones."

"You would have us run away and hide? Bury our heads in the sand? Pretend that there isn't a war happening?" He seemed taken aback by the question.

"Yes," I replied frankly. "The run and hide theory's always worked for me."

Quatre snorted; I thought it was in response to my reply until I saw the camel had taken the end of my braid and was mouthing it thoughtfully. I gave the damn thing my best Heero-like scowl and extracted it from his mouth. I was tempted to give it a good whack in the nose so it'd think twice next time, but with my luck the blasted beast was probably considered sacred in their religion.

"And yet here you are," Rashid replied thoughtfully. "A Gundam pilot. One of the five most wanted men in the world. Fighting in a war you don't believe in."

"Different circumstances," I replied tersely. "Look, if I hadn't taken the opportunity to be a Gundam pilot when it was given to me, I'd probably be in juvie again if I was lucky, but most likely I'd be dead. I grew up on the streets of L2. Average life expectancy for someone like me was thirteen years old."

Quatre shot me a questioning look but I ignored him. He'd have plenty of time later to corner me for interrogation.

"But it is not different circumstances," Rashid replied, regarding me sagely. "Our village could live in peace, because that is how the borders of war have been arbitrarily determined. But why should we draw the line at the safety of our village? Why not peace of our country? Our continent? Our planet? Our species?"

I wish Quat had warned me that the guy was a damn philosopher before I'd gotten myself into this argument. I could see that this was an argument that I wasn't going to be winning anytime soon, nor one that I really wanted to. Rashid _was_ right in his own way. But not all people saw it they way he did. I shook my head, giving him a small smile. I knew when to bow out quietly.

"Fighting for peace. Ain't that the biggest oxymoron you've ever heard of?"

**13:47**

"Okay, spill," Quatre ordered the moment we'd managed to free ourselves from well-wishers, camels, and small children – all of whom seemed to be pulled like a magnet to Quatre. "What did you mean about going to juvie? What is your problem with Heero? What happened on that mission? You make it sound like you witnessed the world about to end. And why-"

"Whoa whoa whoa, slow down a sec and breathe, Quat." I backed away from him, holding up my hands in self-defense. "One question at a time."

"Okay, fine," he huffed, looking slightly put out by what I thought was a very reasonable request. "What happened with you and Heero?"

I rubbed at my nose awkwardly, sidestepping a chicken. "Damn, Quat, go right for the hard question why don't ya?"

"Well, it gets it over with then, doesn't it," he replied smugly. "Besides, quit evading."

"I am _not_ evade – well, okay, maybe I am, but anyway, look. First you gotta understand something. I don't have a problem per se with the guy. He's the one with the damn issues!"

"Duo..."

"No, no, come on, _you_ asked!" I cut him off. "He's the one with the problem, I'm just sticking up for myself."

"Duo –"

"Heero doesn't dream, okay? Heero does not dream...didn't dream –" I amended quickly.

"Duo..." he sighed tiredly.

"No, let me finish." I flapped a hand at him absently. "I mean, that last night we spent in that safe house...no, hang on, lemme go back even further. I'd never been in his dreams before, did you know that?" I glanced over at him, unable to remember how much I'd ever revealed to him. He shook his head.

"Why? You two had been on lots of missions together," he pointed out, ducking into an alley and pulling me with him as someone glanced our way. One of the bad things about trying to have a private conversation in this place was we stood out – Quatre's blond hair acted like a homing beacon.

"I'd never had the opportunity before that mission," I shrugged. "I mean, not without intentionally sneaking into his bedroom at night, which, let's face it, falls into the category of 'very bad ideas'. Besides, I didn't really want to get stuck in his head anyway because...I wasn't sure what I'd find. And with you being there on that mission I actually had a choice about whose head to be in...so, I didn't...I never..." I knew full well I was well past rambling and on the path for a complete case of verbal diarrhea, so I paused momentarily. I don't know why I felt the need to explain myself to him, but I figured I couldn't do much more damage, so I warily pressed on. "That last night there you... were having a nightmare, or, well, not really a nightmare, but – " I paused, quickly searching for a way not let Quatre catch on to the fact that it was his nightmare that had given me the scratches on my neck. "Hey, do you ever remember seeing me in your dreams, Quat?"

He looked startled at the sudden question. "I...no. Maybe? I don't know. Have I? I've dreamed of you, but...I don't think...I mean, I know that...oh, this is really very confusing to explain, you know?" he replied irritably.

"Figment of your imagination 'me' has been in your dreams. But not 'me' me," I offered helpfully.

"Right," he paused, frowning minutely as he tried to wrap his head around what I just said, "Or, I think you're right. Oh, what does this have to do with anything anyway?" he huffed in frustration. I sympathized, even my brain was starting to hurt.

"Because all dreams are the same to me, regardless of the actual subject content. Everyone dreams, I can't get out, I can't influence them, no one ever interacts with me in them, and no ever remembers me being there."

"And?"

"And Heero didn't dream that night! At all! As in, his mind was impossibly clear of any dream-like substances!"

"So what does that mean?" he asked, coming to a halt now that we were in the privacy of the alley, hidden from view of the street behind a stack of packing crates.

"I don't know, I didn't get a chance to ask him how the hell he did it, did I?" I shot back grumpily. "But it gets better. When that mission went belly up- Heero was knocked out. And I was right there-" I flushed slightly, hoping he wouldn't ask why I was there. Both of us were supposed to be 'clear' and a county away. "And-"

"You can get pulled into it when people are unconscious?" He caught on quick. I could see him gaping slightly, now that my eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the alley. "But how-"

"I don't know how. God, I wish I did. It'd make things so less complicated infiltrating places and subduing people," I sighed. "But anyway, I was in his head, and this time he _was_ dreaming." I didn't add how disappointed I'd felt after, knowing that he did dream after all. "And it was like...being stuck in the middle of a tornado or something. It wasn't REM sleep, his brain had been affected by the blow and fuck, I don't know how to explain this, it was like he was drunk or something. Everything went helter skelter... couldn't focus... and – "

I stopped there, not wanting to bring up the fact I'd wondered if I could actually die in Heero's dreams. I didn't know if it was possible, and I didn't want to freak him out about it. The scratches on my neck had been enough to nearly give him a hernia.

"Anyway, something happened, and it just stopped. It got better," I finished lamely.

"What happened?"

"I dunno...I just... focused on something and tried blocking everything out and then the craziness was gone," I shrugged, at as much of a loss as he was.

"So you changed his dream?" He said it like a subtle suggestion more than an actual question.

"Yes. No... Maybe, I don't know," I shook my head, trying to remember just what exactly I'd done. "Like I told you, I'd never been able to do it before. I don't see why then would have been any different."

"Just like you've never met anybody who didn't dream before," he added helpfully, though I supposed he was only trying to keep the conversation going.

"Maybe he did dream! Maybe I was the one that just couldn't remember it, I don't know, Quatre. There is so much I don't know about this: about why it happens to me, how I can get it to stop. I'm just so damn tired all the time, Quat, to the point where I feel like running away from people so I don't have to deal with it anymore. I thought maybe he'd have answers, or...I guess I was just wishing that -" I broke off abruptly, burying my head in my hands.

"He knew I was there," my mouth volunteered before my brain had time to censor it. "He looked at me and knew I was there with him. Not...just dream 'me'. He spoke to me. He told me to get out of his head. I just want to know how! How he can do all that stuff...for crying out loud, I once saw the guy fool a damn EEG into believing he was vegetablized! Stuff like that's not possible. You can't control your brainwaves like that, and yet somehow he can! It's just irritating that he has so much control over himself and I can't even be in the same room with a sleepy person! And now he's just...dead."

"I know you don't think that," Quatre said softly.

I snorted. "Not this again, Quat. How the hell did you get that out of the conversation?"

"You don't refer to him in the past tense," he replied simply.

"A damn Freudian slip, Quatre? Come _on_, gimme a-"

"Several in fact. Duo, believe me when I say, I _know_ how frustrated this makes you feel." He gave me a conspiratorial look and tapped his sternum with one finger, "So please, just believe me when I say you will have a chance to ask him."

"If he does somehow manage to come back from the dead I'll probably wring his neck and castrate him with a ballpoint pen first, then make millions off his secret," I snorted wryly.

I earned an honest laugh from Quatre with that one. "God, you probably would too. But you already know his secret—he's a damn tenacious bastard with the lives of an alley cat."

Hearing my own words echo back out of Quatre's mouth set me off laughing too. "Geez, could you imagine his expression if he overheard us talking about him like this? The one that looks like he just drank rotten OJ?"

"Really?" Quatre mused thoughtfully. "I was thinking it'd be more like the one he got when he stepped in bear dung."

"No, no," I replied solemnly. "That one was more like this – " I pulled a face, wrinkling my nose and clenching my jaw, " – and I was talking more like this." I pulled another equally disgusted face, much to Quatre's amusement.

"Careful the wind doesn't change direction," he replied dryly. "Look, I don't know about you, but I've had enough of... of..."

"The doom and gloom conversation?" I offered helpfully.

"Exactly." He nodded. "It's a nice day! There's a festival going on! Sun, food, safety and friends. We should be doing something fun!"

I eyed him with mild apprehension. I enjoyed Quatre's company, and in battle I wouldn't hesitate to have him at my side. But in all honesty, I didn't know much about the guy. We were from two completely different upbringings. Somehow, I didn't believe that his version of fun and mine would jive.

"What did you have in mind?"

**14:38**

You know how you know you're going to fall the split second before you do?

My fingers slipped off.

And I was falling.

**14:40**

It was Quatre's fault. I determined that quite quickly as I tumbled through the air. Quatre and his blasted version of _fun_, which mirrored mine all too disgustingly. He was supposed to be the guy that talked me out of playing games like this. It had been his idea to play hide-and-seek, mine to added in the element of tag, which basically turned the game into a life–or–death situation.

I twisted my body around at the last minute, landing on my feet and instinctively throwing my body to the side to try and disperse some of my momentum. Fortunately, whatever it was I'd landed on, it was softer than it'd had looked from fifty up.

I lay there for several minutes, savoring the feeling of my guts still being in their rightful place and not decorating the street, and taking the opportunity to catch my breath. Quatre was right beside me in minutes, having taken the less direct path down from the roof by using a trellis as a ladder down a story, and then simply taking the stairs.

"Duo, are you okay?" He ran up, panting hard. Sweat was beading on his face; on the roof we'd had absolutely no cover from the hot sun.

"I'm peachy," I muttered, staring up at the roof, feeling slightly dazed. "Who the hell's damn idea was this anyway?"

"Don't you go blaming this on me," he warned, smiling. "I wasn't the one that decided to hide on the roof."

"Yeah, well, it seemed like a good idea at the time," I confessed, struggling to sit up. "Good thing I had a soft landing."

"Right," Quatre agreed, battling to keep all emotion off his face and losing miserably.

I gave him a suspicious look. "Quatre? What the hell is this stuff?"

"It's..." he coughed once, pursed his lips and then cleared his throat, seeming to be very interested in the toe of his right shoe. "It's a camel by-product that the village uses as a... crop growth enhancer."

"Oh," I replied slowly. "And that's Quatre-ese for – Oh. Oh, _shit_!"

"Precisely," Quatre grinned.

"Quat, it's not funny!"

He smiled cheekily. "Speak for yourself."

"I'm covered in camel dung," I replied weakly.

"So we've established," he began to reply.

And then the air raid sirens began to howl.

Sometimes I hate my life.

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**A/N**: Thanks for reading! Happy holidays to everyone, and we'll see you again in the New Year. ^_^


	9. Chapter 9

**Author**'**s Note**: Wow, has it ever been a long time. So sorry to keep you all waiting. I do update my profile when there's going to be an extended time between updates- and this one was because my hours at work were being cut so drastically that I would have been out of a job. I've been scrambling for the last few months to fight for my job while also looking into going back to school etc. Any how, long story short, things have worked themselves out for the time being.

Thanks to **Aynessa**, my wonderful beta-reader! Without you, this chapter wouldn't be up so quick! Anyone who watches **Code** **Geass** should go check out some of her fanfics.

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**Chapter 9**

**20:45**

"B flat?"

_Even if you had no idea what they signified, the wails of an air raid siren would put your hair on end. Unfortunately, there wasn't a soul in that peaceful little village that didn't know what the mournful dual-toned siren signified. _

I poked it gingerly, and winced. "Maybe...B sharp?"

_There isn't a sound in the world more unnerving than that of an air raid siren. Not when they're wailing in a place that's supposed to be a safe haven. It's one thing to hear them on the battlefield; at bases where they simple keep the tempo with the chorus of bullets firing and grating metal; another entirely in village full of innocent people whose lives were now in danger. _

_Because of us._

_As the pitch of the sirens rose, so did the hairs on the back of my neck; as they dropped, so did the bottom of my stomach. The momentary lull in between only accentuated the unnatural silence._

"Crap." I scowled, but the note didn't sound any clearer.

_Normally, hiding's my thing. I get a smug satisfaction out of being right under the enemy's nose. But cooped up watching the soldiers mingle with the crowd, guns prominently displayed like they were some sort of sadistic reward for the young kids to see, just made me sick to my stomach. _

"Oh, duh," I grumbled. B sharp was also called C. Who invented this thing anyway? I jabbed at the key, and was rewarded with an even worse sound than before. Clearly, I wasn't doing this right. I slammed my fist down, and started over.

_If I was able to cry, I would have at the sheer unfairness of it all. At the danger we'd brought upon these innocent lives. Fortunately, even though the expression on his face showed nothing but resolve, Quatre was able to do it for both of us. _

I could now say that I play the piano. I couldn't play it well, I couldn't read sheet music to save my life, and I was limited to the two songs Quatre had patiently taught me, but I could hit notes, in the proper order, and they made pleasing sounds.

Or not, like right now, when I was so pissed off with the nightly news report that it was either shoot a hole in the forehead of the news reporter on Quatre's TV, or take my anger out on the piano. It said a lot about the past couple of weeks that I didn't go for my first instinct.

As I played, the song got angrier and angrier, faster, louder, my fingers burned and the sounds bore no actual resemblance to the song I was trying to play. The more I messed up, the angrier I got - until I was slamming my hands down on the piano randomly just to lash out at something, to feel the rush as my fists connected with something solid.

_Fuck OZ,_ I thought, starting back at the beginning of the song for the sixth time, slamming on the keys even though it was supposed to start out quiet. Fuck them! Fuck their lies. Fuck their twisted logic. Fuck Lady Une. Just fuck them all. Fuck; it was the word of the day. Hell, word of my life even. Fuck, I hit the wrong note. Fuck, you made my fucking hands hurt. Fuckfuckfuckfuck-

"Duo?"

I have to confess, I punched him before I realized who it was. A good one, straight in the jaw. Quatre went sprawling across the room, the sudden momentum sending all of his own piano music flying, until he was just laying there staring at me in disbelief, me staring dumbfoundedly back, and the piano sheets floating down around us like over-sized confetti.

"Quat...I'm so sorry!" I winced, giving him an apologetic grin as I strode across the room and held out my hand to help him up.

He rubbed his jaw ruefully, giving me a painful smile as he accepted my help, and together we got him back on his feet. "No, I'm sorry, I should have known better than to surprise you when you're like that."

"Piano playing was a dead giveaway, huh?"

"The newscast was the dead give away. The piano playing was the sirens, flares, and bright neon signs saying 'bad idea'," he chuckled, wincing again at the movement.

I sighed, sagging back down onto the piano bench and burying my head in my hands. "Can you believe them, Quatre? Can you really fucking believe the bullshit that comes out of their mouths? That OZ, who started this whole damn war, who threatened to blow up colonies, can actually manage to say they are 'messengers of peace'? 'Cause if I tried saying that with a straight face, I'd laugh and laugh until they'd have to lock me up!"

Quatre sat down next to me, put an arm around my shoulder and squeezed me tightly. I stiffened at first, still all wound up from the news and the piano and the adrenaline of hitting him, but it was hard not to relax. Hugs seemed to be something he was determined to make me used to, as if he was trying to make up for my lack of them. Coming from anyone else, it probably would have felt awkward; but Quatre always managed to project this presence of calmness when I needed it, even when he was shitting bricks himself. I'd grown to rely on him lately.

"Duo, I know we haven't received any orders since Heero..." he began tentatively, catching my eye and quickly changing tactics in mid sentence, "I mean, we need to do something, even if we act on our own. We need to find some way to fight back, a way without letting OZ use the colonies as a shield again."

"And how the hell do you suggest we do that?" My voice was muffled in my hands. We'd talked about all this before and never gotten anywhere other than circling back to doing nothing.

"I think we need to go back into space. We're a weapon of the colonies...even if they've forgotten it. We've done nothing here in over a month. The people have forgotten us! If they don't see a reason to keep fighting, they won't... We should know about that better than anybody..." he trailed off, looking guilty. It was an odd habit that we shared. Feeling guilty for fighting, feeling guilty for doing nothing. Quatre shook his head. "If OZ is feigning a peace offer, the colonies will take that opportunity-"

"I would still have died rather then live under OZ's rule," I interrupted vehemently. "Why don't they see that?"

"Duo...a month ago we were ready to give up too! Can you blame them for just wanting to have a little peace in their lives? Give them a chance," Quatre encouraged with a sad smile. "I don't know if it's the right thing to do but..."

"At least we're doing something," I finished, untangling my fingers from my hair and leaning back at the piano. The edge dug into my back but I ignored it, instead staring reflectively out the window. The entire left side of the room was a window. Floor to ceiling. Some sick little part of me wondered how they stopped birds from flying into it—mainly because the damn thing was so clean it looked like you could just walk straight out onto the treetops. Already the moon was starting to rise. In theory, I should be able to see L3 appearing too, but the light pollution prevented it. There were a lot of things that I missed seeing on Earth because of that. "It'd be nice to go back into space again," I mused, sounding slightly wistful even to my own ears.

Apparently that had been the wrong thing to say. Quatre turned to me with an evil glint in his eyes; he knew he had me convinced.

I groaned. "Quatre, even if it would be possible to _get_ to a base without being shot down, we'd still have to _find_ a space carrier, _steal_ a carrier, load our Gundams _onto_ the carrier, launch the damn thing, **and** get spaceside before they can blow us out of the sky."

"Duo, I can find us a space carrier. The Gundams are beyond repaired, god, you must have calibrated Deathscythe more times in the past couple of weeks than you brushed your own teeth. You know they're no match for us in a straight suit fight...and since when have you ever bothered to worry about everything else?" Quatre exploded incredulously, nearly taking my left eye out with his emphatic gesturing.

I began to reply, to play devil's advocate again - when I just stopped. He was right... since when was I the one to back down from a fight? I was being ridiculous, the month of living in safe houses must have made me soft, and I told Quatre just as much. He chucked, poking a finger into my belly. "I thought you were getting fat."

"Hey, you never know when your next meal is going to be a ration bar," I joked, sneaking a glance at my stomach. It _was_ looking a little pudgy. I twisted, trying to see it from another angle and nearly fell off the piano bench. I snorted at myself, earning a funny look from Quatre. Pudgy was never a problem I thought I'd have to deal with.

Quatre was still shooting furtive looks at me and I sighed theatrically, throwing up my hands. "Quat, you know you had me convinced when you mentioned going back to space. _I_ know you had me convinced at going back to space. So where's this damned carrier and when do we leave?"

**13:30 **

As much as we'd wanted to leave that night, practicality finally set in. We were used to being ready to leave at a moment's notice, but why be unprepared when you didn't have to? For once, there wasn't an invisible timer counting down the seconds to mission failure. I checked over the Gundams, triple checking that everything had been restocked, adding necessary supplies for space use, pulling out both vacuum suits and going over every seam, valve and hose. That alone took me nearly the whole afternoon; if there's one thing that's going to go wrong, you don't want it to be your suit, or it'd be the last bad day you ever have.

Quatre had been relegated to computer duty for the pure reason that they hated me and the feeling was all too entirely mutual. He'd researched the OZ bases in flying range, and narrowed those down to ones likely to have the equipment for moving suits, and then to those with enough carriers to have one present. We'd finally narrowed it down to three, and from those chose the smallest base to minimize the casualties.

And now we were going to Singapore. I'd never been to Singapore, but I'd be willing to bet that one OZ base was identical to another.

"I've missed you, ol' buddy," I whispered to 'Scythe, as I slid into the cockpit, feeling mildly stupid talking to him when Quatre could hear every word, but choosing to ignore him for the time being. "But it's been worth it, I promise. We're going back to space. Can you believe it? After that first mission, I didn't think we'd ever make it back."

I caught Quatre smirking in my secondary monitors, I guessed I'd overdone the talking to inanimate machines, but I still couldn't resist saying, "Laugh all you want, Quatre, but I know you've been doing the exact same thing to Sandrock."

"Yes, but not out loud," he commented drolly, releasing the locking mechanisms that held Sandrock in place on the shuttle.

I cocked an eyebrow. "Might as well have been. You forget I can also read lips?"

Quatre blushed, and suddenly became very interested in something behind him.

"Ready?" I asked as he joined me, hitting the cargo hatch and revealing an expanse of blue beneath us, stretching in in every direction as far as the eye could see.

He nodded in my screen. "Abdul, we're leaving. Be careful, my friend."

"Roger that, Master Quatre."

We jumped.

There wasn't much to do for the short flight; we were only a hundred kilometers from the base. As soon I regained control from the fall, I triggered the autopilot, the thruster packs making us fly low enough that radar wouldn't pick us up, and all we had to do was keep an eye on the main screen to make sure we didn't hit... something. What I would hit flying over the Indian Ocean, I didn't know. A whale, knowing my luck. I brought up the folder with my music in it and queued something obnoxiously loud and metalish, lots of electric guitars and heavy bass, and cranked the volume so suddenly I thought I'd gone and ruptured an eardrum. It was worth it though, when I got a satisfying reaction from Quatre when he nearly went through the roof of his cockpit. I enjoyed the memory for several moments before realizing I wouldn't be able hear my proximity alarms, or quite possibly _anything_ for the rest of my life, and turned it down a couple notches until it fell within reasonable levels.

"That's where you learned the dynamics portion of your piano playing, I'm guessing," Quatre shouted with with two fingers wedged firmly inside his ears. When he realized I'd already turned down the volume and he was shouting unnecessarily, he flushed.

"The piano playing was all you man, so I'd be careful what you say, if I were you." I grinned devilishly, sticking my tongue out. "You'd only be insulting yourself."

He nodded, conceding the point to me. But not before rolling his eyes, an expression most unfitting for the Winner heir and I made sure to inform him of that.

"Ex-heir!" he shouted, almost... gleefully, surprising me. I caught sight of his face though and realized it was mirroring mine. After a month of sitting on our asses doing our knitting lessons, the adrenaline was hitting us harder then usual. I decided to just roll with it. I whooped, grabbing the center-stick and killed the thrusters, pushing Deathscythe into a nosedive. I finally pulled up just short of the water, and for a split second I panicked that the thrusters wouldn't kick in. Gundams were heavy SOBs; ours weren't ever meant to fly unassisted in atmosphere.

Having got that out my system, I flew up to regroup with Quatre. I fired up the scythe next, swinging it around experimentally. The side-stick felt a little gummy and I said as much to Quatre.

"Could be the sand," he replied, looking concerned. "No matter how careful we were, these suits weren't designed to be in the desert like the Maganac suits. What's your range on it?"

I moved the side-stick carefully in demonstration. It was almost ironic, the fact that a Gundam, which was designed to withstand normal bullets, could be brought down by a few grains of sand.

"Range is perfect," I replied after a minute, relieved. "Just slower than normal."

"It's probably just messing with the feedback in the servos then. Keep an eye on the temperature gauge just to be sure, but I think it'll clear up on its own in battle." He sounded confident, so I made a mental note to have an eye on the gauge at all times, and continued on with my testing.

Better safe than sorry. After all, I was going back to space. Home.

**14:51**

They must have seen us before we saw them, because next thing I knew I had Quatre yelling at me to move, and the proximity alarms agreeing whole-heartedly with him. I hit the silencer with my fist even as I threw myself sideways to evade the bullets and threw up my shields.

I dispatched the Aries that had fired at me with a quick swing of my scythe, while Quatre took down two more that had tried to gang up on him with his shotels. Had there been more we would have been fucked - our Gundams weren't designed for battling in mid-atmospheric flight, the thrusters unable to jettison us fast enough or for too long. The whole encounter had taken less than thirty seconds and my heart rate had tripled, leaving me trembling from the surge of adrenaline.

"I think we're clear," Quatre called, surveying around.

I switched to infrared and confirmed it. "Routine scout team do you think?"

"Probably," he sighed, pushing his hair out of his eyes before pushing his goggles down. "Too small and far out to be a first wave. Shields up though?"

"Yeah, we'd better. I just wish it didn't have to be this early," I rued, disengaging the proximity alarms completely and quickly scanning my gauges to make sure I hadn't taken a hit. Shields were a huge consumer of fuel, as was gravity. These things truly were meant to fight in space... it was like using a jet pack to keep an elephant in the air. "Did you take a hit?"

"Negative."

I closed the video but left the radio frequency open; the scout team had put us on edge and it wouldn't do if I went firing at things every time Quatre moved an eyebrow on my corner screen.

We didn't meet anymore resistance until we sighted the base; by the time I'd realized it was the base I had in my view, we were already under gunfire from the turrets.

"Bugs on the windshield, eh Quatre?" I yelled, taking down the closest turret with an outstretched arm as I landed, leaving ruts in the tarmac. He grunted in response, and fired upon a couple approaching Leos. "You think they'd be more prepared-Ah, shit!"

You'd think I'd learn to quit tempting fate. The words were hardly out of my mouth before I found Deathscythe driven to his knees from the force of bullets ricocheting off behind us. The scout team obviously had had time to give them a warning before we'd destroyed them.

"Oh, goddamn you all," I spat in frustration, forcing 'Scythe to his feet, feeling the metal groan in protest. The one major problem of these suits was that if you let yourself fall over, you were about as capable of getting back up as a turtle who'd flipped on its shell.

"Where are the carriers?" I yelled to Quatre, subduing the ones that had brought me to my knees and trying to fight my way back over to him before we could get separated. He was surrounded in a mini standoff, none of the Leos seeming to want to make the first move. "Quatre, get rid of them already!"

"Sorry..." I heard him whisper; without seeing his face I didn't know whether it was directed to me or the suit he'd just destroyed. I took a harder hit and went sprawling forward out of control, slamming into Sandrock and nearly taking us both down. I was thrown hard into my harness and it was all I could do to keep Deathscythe upright. Quatre recovered before me and fired a couples shots off at the tank that had hit me, even while still half supporting 'Scythe's weight.

"Wow, thanks man," I panted, wiping the sweat from my forehead before it had a chance to run into my eyes.

He made sure I had my bearings before letting go of Deathscythe's arm. "The hanger should be on the western side of the base-"

"Uh, Quat?" I interrupted nervously, "I think they've figured that out..."

We had a very long line of Leos heading towards us in ranks, a few Aries dotting the air above them. I wasn't too worried about them - they were designed for air combat and didn't have the maneuverability to fight this close to the ground. The Leos, though as powerful as a very large insect in comparison to us in one-on-one combat, could be formidable if there was enough of them. "How many are you seeing, Quat?"

"Forty apiece, give or take," he replied absently. I switched my video feed back on to see what he was doing. He gave me a harried smile. "Duo, we've got to bring down the numbers before we can go for the shuttle, there's too many of them for one to handle. There weren't supposed to be this many of them here!"

"Shit happens, Quatre. Let's just hope they don't sabotage the shuttles first," I grimaced, as a stray bullet hit Deathscythe's left shoulder.

"No, I don't think they will. Not until it's a last resort... but Duo, they won't be underestimating us anymore, we've got to hurry before they call in more reinforcements."

"No shit, Sherlock," I muttered, taking a few warning swings at the encroaching troops. "You got a plan to go along with all these enlightening revelations of yours?"

He snorted dryly, and then cried out in pain as he was suddenly slammed back against his seat; the wind knocked out of him. "Don't... get killed?" He panted, with a small smile to let me know he was okay. "I'll go for the shuttle, but if you see an opportunity, take it."

"Roger that!" I gave a feral cry, hitting the thrusters and launching myself at the nearest group of Leos. The first one stumbled backwards in surprise at my attack, unwittingly helping me out as he took out two of his own men in his frantic struggle to get out of my path.

The battle got a little crazy then, and I didn't bother to keep a count of how many suits I took out. For every one I immobilized, three more seemed to take its place. We managed to hold our own for a while, but we were just two pilots against a hoard, and we soon found ourselves not making any ground- were, in fact, starting to lose it. Having the numbers wasn't the most efficient way to do battle, but it certainly worked.

"I'm starting to think we're not going to make it, Quatre!" I yelled out, at the same time he cried "Duo, turn on the news!"

"Are you freaking crazy?" I gaped, hesitating for a split second and paying for it when the next hit sent me sideways and made me bite through my bottom lip. "Haven't you noticed-"

"Just do it!" His tone scared me more than anything. As soon as I regained my balance, I opened to the frequency he'd sent me, and froze.

"Why are they doing this?" Quatre cried after a second, staring numbly at the news report. "Don't they see that we're doing this for them? After all we've been through, they're just going to give up? Trust OZ! Why? Why Duo?"

I didn't have an answer for him. I just gazed mutely at the screen, as one by one the representative from each colony cluster, from L1 to L5, was shown, denouncing us, denying that we were fighting on their behalf, as they cut all ties with us. We were now officially terrorists rather than soldiers of the colonies. I was a terrorist. My gut went cold at the thought. There were rules if prisoners of war were captured, guidelines to be followed to ensure our safety. The same didn't apply to terrorists. God, they'd just named us fucking terrorists! We were better off self-detonating than being captured. The end result would be the same—death – but at least the first choice would be instantaneous.

"Duo..." Quatre's eyes were shining as tears threatened. I felt equally frustrated but I didn't have any reassuring words for him. I wanted him to comfort me.

We were so screwed.

There was footage shown next; somehow they'd already gotten stills of our battle and then-

"Quatre—Do you see that!" I yelled in disbelief at what I was seeing.

"It's them, Duo! It's the other pilots! They saw what we were trying to do!" Quatre's voice was jubilant as he gazed at the video, unable to take his eyes off it. "Look, that's Wufei, pilot five...and that's Tro—Trowa, pilot three," his voice hitched at the end, I had to admit, I was feeling pretty emotional myself. Suddenly, I didn't feel so alone.

My computer went crazy then, warning of an incoming unidentified object with missiles locked on our position up in the sky. I looked out the front port numbly, but whatever it was, it was still too far away for my eyes to see. As it came closer, the system got a match on the suit from my archives and I pulled it up. "No way..." I breathed, unable to tear my eyes away from the screen. "Quatre, are you getting this?"

"It's him!" Quatre yelled out, confirming what my eyes didn't want to believe. "It's Heero! He's really alive! I told you, Duo!"

I'd never felt my fingers move faster as I opened up the comm. frequency to him, still unable to believe it was him without seeing his face. "Heero, is that you?"

"Affirmative," he replied, noticing my surprise and smirking at me slightly. "Have they noticed me yet?"

I scanned the Leos, but they appeared to be just holding their ranks – waiting for us to make a move. None of them even looked towards his position. "Negative!" I crowed, giving him a big thumbs up, "I think we've got 'em confused. They think we're surrendering! When will the bastards learn that we don't surrender?"

"Good. Make them believe that. Be ready to attack," he answered, cutting the video feed before I had time to pull a face. What the hell did he think we'd been doing, inviting them over for tea and a cookies? I couldn't get too mad though, we'd just switched from being 'goners' to 'having a small holy chance in hell' in all of two-point-five nanoseconds. My head was still spinning.

The Leos really did seem to think we were surrendering. They'd ceased fire, approaching cautiously with guns trained on us. My scythe was still powered up, but I'd let it fall to my side while watching the news feed. I powered it down until it was just on stand-by, ready to use with a mere push of a button – but looking seemingly harmless. For all they knew, it would take time to fully power it up again. Quatre had managed to keep his Gundam in a fighting stance throughout the turn of events, but lowered his shotels slowly, non-threateningly, on hearing Heero's command.

They made a fatal mistake then. So eager to have us lower our weapons, they bunched together to swarm and incapacitate us before we changed our minds.

It made them a perfect target.

The initial impact from Heero's buster rifle took out at least ten suits, and another twenty or so went sprawling backwards from the shock wave that followed. Quatre and I had the advantage of foreknowledge and were able to make the necessary adjustments to our stabilizers at the last moment. I brought the scythe back off standby and covered Heero while his Gundam made the awkward looking transition from bird mode into its fighting counterpart. I threw the center stick forward as soon as his feet touched the ground and launched myself into the closest group, relying on the sheer weight of my Gundam to knock them over rather than firepower. Crude, but most definitely effective. It was like fighting in the streets of L2 all over again.

"It's gotta be now, Quat!" I yelled into the mic. as he drew up alongside me. "We can't give 'em another chance to regroup. Get to the carrier, Heero and I will cover you."

Despite all my complaints about the guy, Heero is a phenomenal pilot and we work well together, which is probably why we got sent on so many missions with each other in the beginning. His buster rifle makes up for both my lack of long range weaponry as well as sheer power, though in close combat, I rival him in skill and maneuverability. I won't go as far as saying his Wing was the superior Gundam; fuck that, I have to remember my loyalties here – but we made for a formidable team. He kept back as I plowed my way through the Leos, picking off stray groups or suits that I couldn't get to in time, and with his help, the odds had evened up enough that not only were we able to keep our ground, but suddenly they were the ones shitting themselves. Payback's a bitch.

It got a little tricky at the hanger since we had to prevent the whole damn thing from going up in flames with Quatre inside. Somewhere during one break in the waves of suits, I even managed to hit the record so I could watch the newscast later and then finally closed out of it so it wasn't clogging up my screens. I savored the image of the news anchor though, she seemed as stunned at the turn of events as I was. If we really managed to get spaceside after all of this, I wanted a record of it.

"So Heero," I began conversationally, not so much actually expecting an answer but more for the perverseness of it. "So nice to see ya! I really appreciate you coming to save our asses while there was still something left to save."

I heard a snort in my ear, or it could have been Quatre panting. I could only imagine the look on his face if he was hearing this. Some mixture of...resignation and grim humor.

"Next time could you maybe drop us a postcard, or messenger pigeon? You know, one of those neat little methods of communication that recently got invented, just so we know you're-"

I grunted, forcing the side-stick to move, even though it'd just decided it would rather not. I'd forgotten to keep an eye on the gauge, and the indicator had long ago been in the red.

"-alive," I finally finished, backing off and letting Heero dispatch the others. "Quat, you nearly got it? My scythe's about toast here.'

"Just coming up behind you," he confirmed. "Heero, can you get Wing into the carrier after it's airborne?"

"Negative. Too small," Heero grunted, sparing a glance at the carrier Quatre had managed to get. His screen displayed static as he took another hit, someone taking advantage of his lapse in concentration. "It wouldn't handle the docking. Duo, if your Gundam is damaged, get loaded. I'll cover you."

"You'd better be right behind me," I threatened, already pulling away to meet up with Quatre. I tried to make it sound casual, but I really was worried that he'd do something stupid to ensure Quatre and I got away safely. I didn't want the same thing to happen twice- to find out he was alive only to watch him die. "Don't make me come back there and rescue your sorry ass again."

"Some rescue. I believe you got yourself captured," he deadpanned.

I swear my jaw dropped so far I could've stepped on it. The guy goes and dies, and somehow gets reincarnated with a frickin' sense of humor. Would the surprises never end?

**17: 02**

Heero had stayed with us in the cockpit long enough to give us a rendezvous point to meet up with the other pilots. Quatre and I hadn't even planned that far ahead; getting ourselves back into space seemed to be a long shot in itself. After that, he'd disappeared somewhere on board, probably to find a bunk to crash in. I'd debated about going to find him, to finally ask all the questions I had, to find out how in hell he was still alive... but chickened out. Quatre didn't feel comfortable piloting something as big as this carrier into space – something I didn't blame him for, it was like flying a handicapped dinosaur. I didn't feel comfortable hunting Heero down. I'd been lucky so far, I didn't want to have to explain why I was passed out on his cabin floor as his new bearskin rug if he was, in fact, sleeping.

Quatre grabbed me a coffee after we'd exited Earth's atmosphere, and then mumbled something about going to find his own cabin if I didn't need anything else. I reassured him I was fine, and then watched him hesitate at the door as if he'd forgotten how to open it, opening and closing his mouth a few times.

"Just say it, Quat," I poked at him lightly, trying to break the tension. "You told me so. You have the right to gloat."

"It's not that," he said slowly, giving me a funny expression.

"Well, what then?" I asked, starting to get worried. He hadn't been acting like his usual self since we took off. "Spit it out, Quatre, you're scaring me."

"Just... we're... you're not going to get a second chance."

Before I could respond, he'd ducked out, leaving me even more confused.

The ship was on autopilot now; we'd have a good twelve hours before we got anywhere near the L3 cluster, which was our heading. I could have gone and found my own bed, but now he'd got me thinking. What second chance was he talking about? I'd caught the slip, the 'we're' to 'you're' but that didn't help me at all. Us and the colonies? Us and OZ? Us and Heero? Me and Heero? Or was his old nervousness around the other pilots making him overly edgy? I didn't think that was it, Heero and him had never seemed to be at odds.

I sighed, and left the cockpit long enough to track down a blanket before settling in for a long flight. I found my eyes darting back at the screens, looking for any approaching enemies, and let out a barking laugh. I didn't know who the enemy was anymore.

We were terrorists.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks all for reading. Next chapter will be up in two weeks or less. ^_^


	10. Chapter 10

A/N at bottom.

* * *

**Chapter 10**

**22:30**

I wish I could say I had some enlightening revelations during the lonely voyage back into space. Maybe decipher Quatre's infuriatingly cryptic message, or Heero's, well... Heero-ness. But I didn't. The more I thought about about everything, the more confusing 'everything' became. There were too many secrets between all of us, too many hidden agendas and motives. The way I figure, if you don't know someone's motives, you don't know squat.

Case in point? If I knew Heero hated me, that _every_ _single_ _thing_ about me just inspired feelings of unrequited loathing, I'd get his behavior. Expect it, even. I'd think he was a complete dick, but, well, I often think that anyway.

But I didn't think he hated me. Found me annoying, most definitely. Probably disliked me a little bit. But that didn't account for all the times that he'd been almost...friendly with me. Cracked a joke or two, if you could call dry observation and sarcasm a joke. Not to mention saving my life once or twice, but hey, I had returned the favor on more than one occasion, and who's really keeping count?

Crap. What if he was?

I guess it probably didn't help my case that the first time I saw him was through the iron sight on my gun. And I was trying to take his Gundam...okay, okay, and I guess he did leave with a few more holes in him than he started out with. But in my place, I'd be willing to stake my life that he would have made the exact same decision, so I don't think he can hold that against me.

I was still stumbling around in circles in my head when the door behind me opened, and Quatre staggered in, Heero only seconds behind him. Quatre appeared to have had about as much sleep as I had, though he still managed to shoot me a bleary smile before he collapsed into the mechanic's chair.

The docking on the colony was the easy point of the whole escape to space. And as much as it kills me to even think it, it was all due to having Heero with us.

I'm sure Quatre and I could have done it eventually; I mean, we're not _completely_ incompetent at hacking computers, even though I hate doing it. But Heero operated on a whole other level than us, and had a falsified docking request submitted and approved faster than I could tie my shoe. To be completely honest, I'd kinda forgotten about that portion of our escape, though no doubt one of us would have remembered eventually. I was just thankful that I didn't have to do any mucking around in the colony's mainframe. The hardest part was getting the Gundams out of there without anyone catching on to what we were transporting. Moving mobile suits was a common occurrence on the docks; we were at war after all. Keeping them covered and far enough away from any casual observers was a little trickier – the Gundams were quite a bit larger than your average mobile suit and had garnered enough news time that a two year old would know what they were if they caught sight. Somehow we managed, though part of me wondered if we'd created enough entertainment for 'Someone' out there that They were giving us a free pass.

I speak from experience when I say, it's easy to hide yourself in space. With five Lagrangian points, and numerous colony clusters at each of them, it was near impossible to find a person that didn't want to be found. The more people you surround yourself with, the more you act like you belong... the more everyone else will believe you too.

Hiding the Gundams though? Thankfully, that was a dilemma that didn't fall to me to solve. Another pilot, one of the two I hadn't met yet, had made all the arrangements. All I had to do was haul my pathetic butt up into the cab of the flatbed that had Deathscythe loaded on the back and follow Quatre's lead. I'd been up thirty-six hours by this point and didn't have two braincells left to scrape together.

Maybe being involved with the other pilots brought a whole new series of complications to my life. But sometimes it was nice, ya know, to not be responsible for every single decision.

To not be alone.

**0700 **

A door slamming woke me up. I bolted upright, grabbed my pillow, and waffled for a few tense seconds between throwing it at something or stuffing it over my head. Quickly coming to the conclusion that doing the former would only result in me having to get out of bed to pick it up again, I went straight to the second option and slammed the pillow firmly over my ears.

A second slam was heard, quickly followed by a high-pitched whine that sounded like a power drill. The pillow did nothing to muffle any of these sounds. I turned over onto my other side and rolled my eyes at Quatre, who was a mirror image of me in the other bed, except he'd gone one step further and wrapped a towel around his head. A third slam was enough to send him flying upright, shaking his fist.

"You have got to be kidding m–" he began angrily, before a loud hammering sound drowned out his voice. The thin walls began to shake and sent a flurry of plaster and drywall drifting down from the ceiling. I spotted it and yanked the blanket up over my head even as my brain screamed 'INCOMING!'. Quatre, however, was in complete rant mode by this point and was thoroughly coated.

Silence.

I stifled a giggle. It suddenly occurred to me that that would be an all too interesting experiment to try on Heero next time he got out of the shower. Being yelled at for slamming a door would be a small price to pay for seeing Heero tarred and feathered in drywall dust.

Quatre, unfortunately, heard the snort that slipped out and turned to me, his blue eyes looking particularly murderous against the stark contrast of his now washed out features.

"I... I –" he began, pausing to blow a piece of plaster off the tip of his nose.

"I am going to kill someone," I growled in completion, as the high pitched whine started up again.

The past two days could only have been described as pure and evil torture. I'm sure it beat the hell out of anything OZ could have thought up. The five of us were together in a small... townhouse? One of those that's in a long row stuck to all the other houses, so you can always hear what's going on at Mr. And Mrs Next-Door's place. All that meant was there were certain rooms we couldn't talk about sensitive things in, in case the sound carried. Not that Mr. and Mrs. Next-Door seemed to give a crap.

Apparently.

And not that there was much talking going on either. It was seriously like living in a sorority house with the other pilots, except with less beer and way more cat-fights. Every day was like a game to figure out who was talking to whom, and who had pissed off someone else. I'd never seen anything like it in my life.

A point made evident when I opened the door to the room Quatre and I shared and walked straight into the middle of a stand-off in the hallway between Heero and Wufei. There was a towel in the middle of the floor between them. Had it been anyone other than those two, I would have pretended to cock my leg over it; or something equally amusing, but as it was, I was willing to bet that either one (or both) of them were armed, and that was a _very_ scary thought at five past seven in the morning.

Or any time, come to think of it.

Quatre chose right then to walk straight into the back of me, being too preoccupied with shaking drywall dust out of his hair rather than observing the imminent danger of his surroundings. He glanced up, looked left at Heero, then right at Wufei, and made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a gulp. Neither Heero nor Wufei acknowledged our appearance, and intent on keeping it that way, I grabbed Quatre's arm and escorted him safely past Heero before depositing him in the bathroom – that being the only place where you were guaranteed to have at least ten minutes of complete peace in the entire house.

Not for the first time did I regret the decision to come back to space. Quatre's mansion, or war-zone? Bedroom and shower all to myself, or crammed into a rat-infested safe house with four other guys with severe cases of paranoia and adrenaline addiction. I'm tellin' you, the decision would've been a helluva lot different in hindsight.

"You're up early," Trowa greeted me as I stumbled safely into the kitchen, his eyes sparkling humorously. He added another two slices of bread to the little camping grill perched on the kitchen counter without being asked, while I cut off extra slices of cheese.

"Yeah, well, apparently Next-door's decided to go into the demolition business. At seven o'clock in the _freakin_' morning, I might add," I muttered, grabbing milk out of the cooler in the corner that was serving as a fridge. Water ran down the side of the carton from the melted ice, and left a trail on the floor as I hurried over to the sink.

At best, our current safe house could be described as spartan. The only furniture it had come with was three beds, a cot, a mattress and a lone couch that looked and smelled older than all our ages combined. I might have lived in much worse conditions over the years, but I'd also lived in better. Back in my street days, a place this would have been prime real-estate. It had a roof, four walls – even running water. It was practically a palace, by those standards. So don't get me wrong; while I may be grateful for what it did have to offer, I also knew that bed-bugs, body lice and mold weren't supposed to be normal parts of life. Painful open sores, incessant itching and chronic breathing problems weren't something I ever wanted to deal with again.

And, I mused idly, if we were going to be stuck here for any amount of time, we really needed to find a better solution for a fridge. This house only had one bathroom. Five guys with food poisoning would really... stink.

"Coffee table." Trowa offered after a quiet minute.

"Huh?"

"I think they're constructing a coffee table." He grabbed the corner of the toast between his thumb and finger and deftly flipped it over. The butter sizzled on the grill, and made my stomach rumble.

I gave him an incredulous look, that went to waste with his back turned to me, before deciding I really didn't care how he knew that. "Yeah, well, whatever. They try that again tomorrow and I'll be happy to go over and show the guy a new place to keep his hammer."

Trowa snorted. That earned the guy a few brownie points in my book. At least he appeared to have a sense of humor in there, even if he wasn't much of a talker.

"Say, what's the deal with the kids in the hallway? Did we open a daycare or something?"

He gave me a bemused look, apparently waiting for the punch line. Sadly, I wasn't joking.

"Heero. Wufei. Having a territorial dispute over a bath towel, or so it appears," I supplied, blowing on my coffee before talking a gulp.

Trowa rolled his eyes – or, at least, I think he did... as I could only see one at this angle. "I don't know why, because it's – "

I didn't get a chance to find out what 'it' was, because at that moment, Quatre chose to appear. He'd obviously come straight from the shower, no doubt to bypass world war six, (or ten, or whatever we were at by now) in the hall, because he was only wearing jeans and his hair was sticking up comically in all directions. He spotted me, and began to smile, then caught a glimpse of Trowa. The smile froze into a painful looking grimace. He tried to stop in mid-stride, which caused him to stumble forward. As he scrabbled for traction on the linoleum floor, he stepped in the puddle of water that I'd so thoughtfully left there. His left foot shot forward, while his right remained planted, and had Trowa not grabbed his arm, he would have given us a first hand display of how flexible he was... or wasn't.

The entire debacle lasted less than five seconds, and before Quatre realized it, he was bundled up safely in Trowa's arms. And looking like he was wished he could melt into the floor, I might add. Trowa seemed to pick up on the fact that the little ball of nerves in his arms was not at all happy to be there, and handed him off to me, where I sat him safely in a chair before he could break something.

"Geez, Quat, no need to fear with you around. Do I need to get you a seat-belt so you don't fall off?" I teased him lightly, quiet enough so that only he could hear.

His only response was an expression that made him look like he needed to hurl. I shook my head incredulously.

The events of the morning brought up a very interesting point though...

How the hell, in this house, with these people, did _I_ get labeled the 'childish' one?

**19:47**

"I am bored," I sighed, staring up at the ceiling. I had been making up a story to go along with the water stain blobs that mottled the plaster, but understandably that could only keep me amused for so long.

Quatre glanced up from his book, and stared at me with mild apprehension. "Well, find something to do."

I sighed. What exactly did he think I'd been doing for the last two hours? And it wasn't exactly like this place was bursting with options.

"Like what?" I grumbled, not giving him time to answer before I began to tick off on my fingers, "Can't do mission prep 'cause there's no jobs coming in. Can't work on 'Scythe because it would draw attention to where we've stored them. Can't leave the room 'cause I'll get my head bitten off by Mr. Pissy-pants in the living room, or something thrown at me by Mr. Even-Pissier-Pants who's holed up in his bat-cave."

"You mean Wufei?" Quatre chuckled, flipping down the corner of his page to mark his spot and absentmindedly stuffing it under a pair of my jeans on the floor.

I looked at him incredulously. "Well, duh."

"He's not that bad," Quatre replied diplomatically. "He's actually quite intelligent."

I snorted. "Well I'd hope so, considering his current choice of occupation. Otherwise they should've just trained those big monkeys to be Gundam pilots."

"That's not what I meant," Quatre sighed.

"I just know what I see," I smirked. "And the way I see it, if he didn't come out to eat and pee like clockwork, I'm pretty sure the guy could have died without us knowing."

"Come on, Duo. We're not exactly leaving the room anymore than we have to either."

"Hey dude, I'd be just as happy being bored in the living room as I am in here. Well, maybe," I amended quickly. "But as it appears that you're the only one that can carry a conversation, and you're the one that insists on being cooped up in here..." I trailed off, giving him an opportunity to jump in and explain why that was exactly, but he didn't take the bait. "Though," I continued, having a sudden brainwave, "I guess with your whole empathic thing, that's probably not very fun considering the company we happen to be in at the moment."

"Mmm," Quatre grunted helpfully, suddenly becoming very interested in picking at a loose thread on his blanket.

I narrowed my eyes, but decided not to go down that line of questioning for the time being. I needed someone to talk to in this hellhole, and pissing off Quatre wasn't the way to go about it. Instead, I sighed, and instead suggested, "Quat, let's go out for a walk or something. Anything!"

I could see I'd piqued his interest. His eyes flickered over at me hopefully before resuming their focus on the blanket, trying to play it cool. "Do you really think that's a good idea?"

"Do you have a better one?"

"I think anything that involves you ticking off Heero should be avoided for the time being," he replied frankly, raising an eyebrow.

"Why would Heero – wait, 'cause we're supposed to be laying low?" I scoffed, suddenly catching on to his line of thought. "Quat, the only one of us who has a chance in hell of being recognized _is_ Heero because of that cute little stunt he pulled, and funnily enough I wasn't exactly planning on asking him to tag along. _Or_ asking his permission."

"Yeah, but –"

"No buts, Quat, so get dressed." When he still didn't move, I tossed my cleanest black hoodie at him, choosing a denim jacket for myself. "What is more suspicious, Quat? A house full of people that no one ever sees, or a bunch of people that – "

"Okay, okay, I'm convinced!" he exclaimed, throwing up his hands in mock defeat.

"Excellent."

**19:59**

If I'd thought convincing Quatre to go would be the hardest part, I was sadly mistaken. I'd forgotten what lurked in the living room. And it wasn't happy.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Quatre jumped guiltily. I paused with my hand on the door knob, took a deep breath and turned to smile blandly at Heero.

"Opening a door. Am I doing it wrong?" I asked, puzzled. Beside me, Quatre uttered a small groan and was pulling his best 'why me?' face, while I did my best to ignore him.

"Why?"

"To get to the other side. Funnily enough, I haven't figured out how to walk through solid walls yet and– "

"It's not safe out there," Heero growled.

"In case you hadn't noticed, _Dad,_ it's not exactly safe in here, either," I replied pleasantly. Quickly realizing just why he might possibly find me irritating at times, I added seriously, "Chill out, Heero. I've seen the area. It's the little leagues out here; I've lived in much worse. I know how to take care of myself."

"Duo..." If his face hadn't remained so impassive, I almost would have guessed he was begging. But I did get the sense that he was wavering; at least, that he wasn't going to resort to physically restraining us, and I jumped on the chance.

"Excellent! Quatre and I will behave like good little boys, and we'll be back in time for curfew." I grabbed Quatre by the arm and pulled him out the door before either tried to protest. "Don't worry, I'll only let him bring home one hooker this time!" I yelled cheekily over my shoulder.

I didn't let go of Quatre's arm until we were far enough away that I was sure Heero hadn't tried to follow us. Quatre gratefully rubbed some circulation back into it.

"That was exactly what I was wanting to avoid," he fumed, glaring at me sternly. "Why do you have to goad him like that?"

"Because it's fun."

He did not look impressed.

"...And partially because it's habit," I added honestly.

"Well, one of these days he's going to deck you, and I won't try and stop him," Quatre promised, looking slightly more amused.

I laughed, looking over at him, "Yeah well, you always were the smart one." And then,"Geez, Quat, even in my clothes you look like a spoiled little rich kid!"

"I'm... sorry?" he offered, shying away as I moved to yank his hood over his bright blond hair, which almost appeared to glow in the light from the street lamps.

I glanced around as he tried to sort out the hood and baggy sleeves. I'd lent it to him because it was warm; that, and nothing of his was even remotely appropriate. Jeans were jeans; thank god he had a pair of those, but if I'd let him go out in one of his collared shirts, or heaven-forbid, something with pleats, it would have been begging someone to beat him up. It'd be like their civic duty or something.

Trowa had been the one to arrange the safehouse we were in, and I had to admit, I couldn't have done a better job of it myself. Most people would refer to it, and the area we were in, as a shit-hole. It was an area that I was all too familiar with; one where everyone was trying to hide something, and all the others were too busy trying to look the other way. To the untrained eye, the street looked oppressive; a too-narrow road shadowed by long rows of identical run-down duplexes and townhouses. Every one of them was marked in some way – barred windows, the odd bullet hole, gang tagging and the like. Every other street corner had the essential gang of teenage goons smoking joints trying to look macho and tough, while girls strutted around in...well, not much, actually.

As a kid, I'd be in heaven in a place like this. The lamp posts and fire ladders led to another world on the rooftops; where gaining access to one house usually meant easy pickings on all the others, as most of the older buildings all shared a common attic, separated only by a thin piece of plywood. It was a cat burglar's dream, and one I took full advantage of.

"So...we're free. Now what?" Quatre asked, clearly feeling uneasy. It was then that I realized that, although I was in my element, Quatre was as far away from his comfort zone as he could possibly be.

"Just chill for one," I grinned cockily. "I'm not saying let your guard down, but seriously man, you look like you're about to have a stroke or something!"

Quatre chuckled nervously, and relaxed all of an iota.

"I'm going to give you your first _real _lesson in street life," I decided. "Lesson number one..." I hesitated, glancing over at him. Even with my over-sized hoodie reaching down to his knees, the hood covering his pristine hair, and the fact I knew he was armed, he still looked as if he was preparing to walk into the boardroom to give a presentation. Back straight with shoulders back, revealing a cultured upbringing that heavily focused on poise and presentation. His eyes were constantly scanning the area, and met those of everyone that passed us on the street, who were shooting him funny looks for it.

In short, I could've dressed him in a tutu and platforms and he wouldn't have stood out any more.

"Slouch." I summarized all my observations into one easy to follow command. "No, _slouch_, not walk with a limp."

"You do realize that teaching me to slouch would be like teaching a dog to walk on it's hind legs?" Quatre chuckled, thankfully losing the limp as he made a second attempt, and nearly crumpled to the pavement. I suppressed the urge to slap my forehead. Seriously, how was it that I had to _teach_ the poor kid to slouch properly? Wasn't it one of things that everyone was born knowing how to do? Like, I don't know, _breathing?_

"People have spent the last fifteen years of my life beating it out of me," Quatre chuckled, scarily answering the question I hadn't even asked.

"And yet it has been proven that a dog can learn to walk on it's hind legs," I responded dryly, glancing around and making a snap decision to go in the the opposite direction of the large crowd of people sauntering up behind us who were most unmistakably drunk.

"However comical they appear," Quatre supplied, quickly falling in to walk beside me.

I snorted. "What, you goin' all philosophical on me?"

Quatre didn't answer as a dark figure shuffled out of the alley ahead of us, and started down the sidewalk towards us.

"Chill, dude," I breathed to Quatre, as I noted the uncoordinated walk and tell-tale sniffs. "Just a junkie. Usually not dangerous."

"Usually?" he hissed back.

"Maybe if you're on your own," I replied thoughtfully. "They're cowards by nature. Don't like a fair fight."

"Oh, _that's_ reassuring," he grumbled as the junkie stumbled past us.

"Should be. It's the dealers you have to worry about."

"Oh yeah?" Quatre replied a little snappily. "And how do I recognize them?"

"When they try to sell you something?"

"Brilliant," Quatre sighed.

We got to an intersection and Quatre paused, waiting for my lead. I leant against a brick wall, casually scoping out our options. The gang behind us was still advancing, but were still far enough away that I wasn't too worried about them. Down the right-hand street was another group, consisting of (as far as I could tell) of a bunch of girls and one guy trying unsuccessfully to operate a skateboard. I immediately dismissed the idea of going straight, not wanting to get too far away from the safe house.

"Heero would be pleased if he was here," I muttered, finally choosing to go down the left street. As far as I could see, there were only two girls waiting on the far street corner. Couldn't get much safer than that.

Quatre gave me a funny look.

"Don't worry about it," I sighed. "But if we get beaten up by two hookers, I'll let him say I-told-you-so."

As we neared the girls, one of them turned to face us, smiled, and sauntered over, looking slightly off-balance in her high heels.

"Evening ladies." I flashed them both a genuine smile. "Good night?"

"Slow," High-heels complained. She ran an appraising eye over Quatre – who promptly turned an almost luminescent shade of red.

"Shame to hear it," I replied conversationally, and then, after glancing over at Quatre, "Sorry about my friend, he doesn't get out much. In fact, some of us think he's _a_ _little special._"

Quatre caught on, and quickly stopped gaping.

"S'ok. He's cute," the other girl replied seriously, as if that solved everything.

"Yeah, he is, isn't he?" I smirked. Quatre gave me the evil eye. "Say, got any advice for a coupl'a newbies to the area?"

High-heels thought for a moment. Under the makeup, I could see she was actually quite pretty. "One block over; the house with a burnt out car in front. They wouldn't appreciate a coupl'a pretty boys like you going near."

"Other than that, it's not too bad an area," the other girl added. "Colby's boys keep everyone else in order. Don't get on his bad side and you'll do okay."

"Thanks," I replied, committing the information to memory. I wondered if Trowa somehow knew this Colby guy, or if we should be preparing for a welcome visit from the local street gang. Five guys suddenly moving into the neighborhood would be perceived as a huge threat to their turf, and I wasn't stupid enough to think that our presence here had gone unnoticed by the locals.

"Say, you boys interested? We'll give you a deal," High-heels asked coyly.

"Nah, sorry, not tonight ladies," I grinned. "Besides, you're not quite my type – no offense intended, of course."

"What was that about?" Quatre hissed as soon as we were out of earshot.

"Dude, you just got hit on by your first hooker," I chuckled, putting my arm casually around his shoulder.

"And about them not 'being your type'?" he pressed, narrowing his eyes at me.

Darn, he'd caught that, had he? Some days he could be so naive, and then on others there was no getting past him.

"Meaning I don't sleep with hookers," I stated truthfully, if not really answering his actual question. I knew I was gay. I was quite comfortable with that fact. Still didn't mean I wanted people knowing; even Quatre. Information was power in my world, even a trivial little piece like this. "But I can't exactly say that to them, can I? A little rude?"

I glanced around at the next intersection, and chose the left road again, intending to loop back around to begin heading back towards our safe house. But even from this far down the street I could see it ended in a cul-de-sac. However, both of our other options contained large groups of people, and even I knew...

My stomach contorted painfully as soon as I realized what was going on. The entire time Quatre and I had being heading in the opposite direction of them, me not wanting to get stuck in the middle of some street fight, or worse, a turf war. And the whole time they'd casually followed after us, herding us. And they were good enough that I didn't pick up on what they were doing right away. I could have kicked myself, but there wasn't time for that at the moment.

"Quat," I interrupted him from whatever he'd been telling me, not breaking my casual stride to give our pursuers any indication that I'd _finally _clued in to what they were doing. "If I'm not mistaken, we're goin' to be seeing some action in the next coupl'a minutes. What're you carrying?"

"Gun. Full clip." He glanced over, giving me a wry smile while taking the opportunity to scope out the situation behind us in his peripheral vision. "Nothing's ever boring with you around, is it?"

"I think that's how I got us into this mess," I bemoaned.

I thought quickly, trying to remember what gun he usually favored. That meant he had... eleven rounds, if I guessed right. I only had half a clip, which meant eight in mine, as well as all my usual collection of close-range weaponry. Not that I hoped it would come to a shoot out. As I hadn't seen a gun on his person in the house, I surmised that he had an ankle holster. It was the only place I could think of him keeping it with out me seeing; the stiff material of his jeans concealing its profile. It didn't give him the easiest access should he need it in a hurry, but better than being lost under all the excess material of the baggy sweater.

"Lose the sweater, Quat." I realized suddenly. The stupid sleeves kept slipping down over his hands, and the hood was another unnecessary danger. Hell, even better, if they were stupid they might assume that he was unarmed, and neither of us looked particularly threatening. It'd be a rookie mistake on their part, but we _were_ new to the area. For once, that might work to our advantage. Quatre had beaten me to that thought, and was already fighting to get his arms out of the the sleeves. I was trying to yank his head free when they made their move.

"Aw, ain't that sweet," a voice drawled. "Ain't that just sweet boys?"

Yeah, ya douche-bag, very witty. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, and took a deep breath. It was time to dust off the old acting skills.

"Hey man," I whined, turning around to face the voice, but not meeting his face. "Whatever you're sellin', we ain't buyin'. We don't want no trouble."

It pained me to act this pathetic and helpless when I'd undoubtedly clocked more fight time than any of them. But it'd been several years since I'd been in an all-out street brawl, and even back then I tended to avoid them at all costs when I wasn't on my home turf. And now I had Quatre to worry about; someone who, I was guessing, had no practical experience in fighting dirty.

Add in the fact that we couldn't kill them because they were only a bunch of stupid assholes, and we couldn't knock 'em out, because that'd mean lights out for me also – all in all, it was not turning out to be a good situation.

Oh shit... I hoped Quatre would remember the 'rules' of my little problem.

"Well, what about your little smurf*?" Another guy asked, with a spike sticking out of his lip. "I'm sure we could show him a good time."

And if you actually knew what that word meant, you probably wouldn't have said that, I thought, clenching my jaw so that any smart-ass remark that my smart-ass brain thought up wouldn't accidentally slip out. Thankfully, I was fairly sure Quatre wouldn't know the definition of the word either.

Quatre shrank back as a third guy stepped towards him, fully playing up the image that he was weak and afraid, while giving us both space to maneuver should we need it.

"Hey man, leave 'im alone." I sniffed, wiping my nose on my sleeve and swaying slightly. "We ain't botherin' nobody."

"You can drop the act, kid. You're not fooling anyone." The first guy spoke again. I looked up sharply, all too willing to drop my pitiable facade, and when my eyes met his I felt a sudden flash of recognition.

And I could tell by the small smirk threatening to turn up the corners of his mouth... that he knew me too.

I scanned the faces of the other guys in the group; the girls too. But none of them were familiar. Not even the slightest hint that I might have seen them before; not from my own instincts or from their faces. And clearly I _had_ been fooling most of them with my little act, because none of them appeared to be paying much attention. One guy, clearly strung out on something, was puffing on a cigarette and spent more time looking above him than in front. A second guy had a revolver shoved into the front of his waistband with the safety off – I didn't know if that meant he was homicidal or just plain stupid. A couple of girls had gathered, clearly wanting to see the show while another one was too busy making out with a guy at the back of the group to realize a fight was about to break out. But the last two, the ones on either side of the of the guy I recognized – they were trouble. There was something military about them; or a least formal combat training judging by the way they held themselves. One, whom I immediately named The Hulk, had a partially healed knife or shrapnel wound in his left cheek; the other was smaller, wiry, and had eyes so dark you couldn't tell where the pupil ended and the iris began.

My mind began to race; a million questions all presenting themselves at once, but no answers. Did they know who I was? What I was? Had I managed to blow our cover, all because I was bored, and thought Heero was just exercising his excessive paranoia? C_rap_, if only I could place that guy's face! But nothing stood out about it; not one distinguishing feature. Dirty blond hair, bright blue eyes; a face that could fit in just about anywhere. Even his accent didn't give any clues, though there was something odd about the way he talked that I couldn't quite place.

"Whaddya want?" I challenged, happily straightening up from my sniveling druggie act, and balancing myself on the balls of my feet, ready to move quickly.

The guy nearest to me, the one with the lip ring, jumped back suddenly, clearly surprised by my sudden personality change. The guy with the gun leered at us, intrigued by the possibility of a decent fight after all. But the three I was worried about didn't even bat an eye.

"Just...to talk." He drew out the words languidly, rocking back on his heels. "I have a... well, I guess you could call it a proposition to discuss with you. Your friend's free to go."

"Sorry, dude. Not interested," I snorted, turning as if to walk away.

The guy that had been smoking the cigarette fell for the bait first, grabbing me roughly by the shoulder and trying to force me around. "Hey, you punk-ass d– "

I didn't get a chance to hear what creative word he was about to fill in the blank with, because I'd already grabbed his wrist, yanked him forward and struck at the Golgi tendon in his elbow. When his elbow hyper-extended, I broke it with sharp, secondary blow, leaving him screaming in pain at my feet on the pavement in a matter of seconds.

The guy with the gun shoved down his pants lunged past me, obviously thinking that Quatre was the easier target. Quatre swiftly sidestepped him, made a calculated lunge and squeezed the trigger, coldly firing a shot through the guy's foot before snagging the gun out of his waistband and lobbing it towards a house, out of reach for it to be used against us. Before the guy went down, Quatre struck at both ears with the palms of his hands. Judging from the intensity, and the howling that followed, he'd successfully managed to perforate at least one of the guy's ear drums.

It wasn't a move I would have used myself until it was a last resort, as it did have the potential to render people unconscious, but I couldn't help but only feel a sudden flood of relief – Quatre clearly remember the necessity to at least _try _and keep our opponents conscious.

The guy that had called Quatre a smurf made a move in tandem with one of the guy's I'd pegged on having professional training. Name-caller moved first, running straight at me. I ducked down and sent him flying over me, leaving Quatre to finish him off, but Black-eyes saw the opportunity and executed a painfully hard textbook snap-kick, catching me squarely under the chin. I went stumbling backwards, and tripped over Name-caller – who was on the ground with a paralyzed diaphragm, courtesy of one Winner heir, struggling to breath.

Quatre darted forward nimbly to cover me, easily blocked a roundhouse kick and countered with a snap-kick of his own to the guy's groin before letting go of his leg. Unfortunately it didn't work quite as well as Quatre had intended. Either the guy had balls of steel, or an incredibly high pain threshold, but he didn't go down. He barely even flinched.

The fight escalated quickly from there. I scrambled to my feet and went for a guy with hot purple hair who was apparently intending on taking Quatre down from behind. I hooked a foot around his leg and sent him to his knees, pulling his arm sharply backwards and upwards, and letting his momentum dislocate his own shoulder as he went down.

Quatre had obviously taken a hit to the face during that time; as I glanced over, he spat a mouthful of blood at his opponent, hoping to distract him. Apparently Quatre did have a few dirty tricks of his own.

The Hulk came at me next, feinting a jab, before grabbing me by the throat more quickly than I could have anticipated. Both my feet were off the ground, but instead of panicking like he'd been hoping, I wrapped my legs around his waist to relieve the pressure on my neck and rammed both my palms into his nose before breaking his hold. Before jumping down, I head butted him in the nose again.

Someone grabbed my braid from behind, and wrapped it around his wrist. I was about to show him just what exactly happened to people who dared to touch my hair, when I felt cool metal press against my head behind my ear, and I immediately froze. The Hulk, recovering quickly, jumped on the opportunity to land a jab, which glanced off my cheek as Quatre elbowed him in the solar plexus.

"Freeze."

Quatre looked up sharply towards me and the voice, struggling to catch his breath, and suddenly saw what had me standing so still. Blood poured into his eye from a gash in his temple. He stared at the ground in dismay, while I closed my eyes.

"Ready to listen now?"

Crap, so that's where that guy had gotten to. I'd lost track of him in all the fighting.

"You just don't know the meaning of the word no, do ya?" I responded impudently. Quatre glanced up at me in horror, before his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. His eyes met mine, and flicked upward ever so subtly. Without thinking about the consequences of potentially misinterpreting his signal, I dropped suddenly to my knees and threw myself into an awkward roll, leaving more skin behind on the sidewalk as I went.

And then Heero was there.

The moment I dropped, he swooped in from behind and used the same move I had earlier to break my first assailant's elbow, forcing him to let go of my braid. Except he didn't rely on pressure points, and chose to use the more direct method of sheer brute force.

I staggered to my feet from the sidewalk and watched in horror as Heero snagged the guy's gun in mid-air and pistol whipped him smartly on the forehead.

"Heero, NO!" Quatre cried out, futilely lunging forward to grab the gun in the vain hope of stopping him.

I couldn't say anything. My head smacked the sidewalk.

Of course, I was already dreaming by then.

* * *

**Smurf**: young gay man with blonde hair and a negative or rough attitude.

**A/N**: As always, thanks to my wonderful friend and beta reader **Aynessa** for constantly pushing me to make this story better. Also, the pressure points and attacks described in this story are real, and can potentially be very dangerous. Please don't experiment on your kid-siblings with them. ^_^

Thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

A/N at bottom.

* * *

**Chapter 11**

* * *

I didn't stand a chance.

I didn't get the usual tugging sensation, the one that warned me I was about to be pulled in - the feeling that always gave me the illusion that, maybe this time, I stood a chance of stopping it from happening. One second I was staring in horror as Heero's hand swept down in a graceful, deadly arc; the next-

I was falling.

Accelerating, faster than gravity was capable of.

This wasn't his misconstrued idea of what G-force felt like. This wasn't the measly amount you felt accelerating in a car. This was the head-reeling, can't-breathe, nausea-inducing version, recreated by someone who'd truly experienced re-entry to the Earth's atmosphere.

Someone who feared it.

Someone who let it control him.

I'd said once that I loved re-entry. I could get hypnotized in the kaleidoscope of reds and yellows exploding in front of my screens showcasing the debris burning up around us as we hit atmosphere. I craved that feeling as the G-force suddenly hit; compressing me against 'Scythe's seat until I melded into him - no longer man and machine, just one unstoppable unified being. I loved the intoxicating feel of the adrenaline surging through my body, making me feel more alive than I'd ever imagined possible, where screaming was the only way to relieve the euphoria that threatened to burn me up from the inside.

Until now.

Stuck in his head, in his dreams, I began to experience terror unlike any I've ever felt before. _His_ terror. My body trembled with the ferocity, but I was paralyzed in fear as I tumbled end-over-end. My velocity increased exponentially, and so did the G-force.

I felt my eyes compress back into my skull from the sheer intensity, and then I began to experience what every pilot fears; every pilot's worst nightmare; the worst thing that can happen to you behind the yoke.

A red-out.

My body was unable to compensate any longer for the prolonged stress being exerted upon it. All the blood in my body was forced up towards my head, literally turning my vision red as the capillaries in my eyes exploded from the sudden surge in pressure. Pain lanced into my head, my neck, and I knew it was only a matter of seconds before I had a massive stroke, went unconscious or died – oh god, I didn't want to die in here –

Relief.

I fell to my hands and knees, every part of me trembling uncontrollably. A half-strangled sob slipped out; but even in dreamland, with no one here to see me, and no actual tears to cry, I forced it into a laugh.

And as I looked up, I began to laugh even harder. Uncontrollably.

White mist surrounded me. It was above me, below me, around me, smothering me. Stretching out in every direction, as far as I could see; his whole damn mind was filled with the blasted mist. I staggered to my feet, somehow able to move even though it was against all the usual rules.

Off in the distance I heard an odd whooshing sound. It was vaguely familiar, and yet... somehow different. Wrong. I tapped the beat out with my hand on my leg, furiously trying to remember where I'd heard that sound before, but every time I felt the memory hover tantalizingly closer, the sound would skip a beat, and throw the memory just out of reach again.

I took a couple of steps sideways, cocking my head intently to see if the sound changed.

It didn't. The memory lazed just out of reach, taunting me.

I took a few steps backward this time, and was rewarded by backing into something _very_ solid. I spun around to face my assailant and instinctively dropping into a fighting stance; one that felt as natural to me as breathing and allowed me to move unhindered regardless of where the attack came from.

I was rewarded with the sight of a...wall?

Huh?

I relaxed slightly and stared, but nothing else appeared. In fact, I wasn't completely sure that it hadn't been there all along. The white mist seemed to toy with my perceptions, warping my sense of direction and depth.

Finally, curiosity got the better of me. I'd never had this much leniency in dreams before - might as well take the time to explore.

I didn't touch it at first. Partly because I didn't trust things that appeared out of nowhere, and also because I was afraid that if I did, it'd disappear...leaving me all alone in the mist. Call it an old street habit if you like, but I've always felt safer in a strange place with my back at a wall.

Even in a dream.

"Now, why the hell would you be dreaming about a freakin' wall?" I muttered curiously, taking another step closer. My voice sounded unnaturally dull in the fog, muffled as though I were underwater. I shivered involuntarily, forcing myself to take several deep breaths. It wasn't water. I could breathe. Everything was okay.

But for some reason, it suddenly felt much smaller in here. Oppressive. Menacing.

I turned my attention back to the wall, mainly for a distraction. There was nothing special about it. Not as far as I could see, at least. The pattern remained constant - not one part looked any newer than another. No brick seemed to be a funny shape, or color.

I reached forward gingerly, praying that the damn thing wouldn't completely disappear (or even better, come tumbling down on top of me), when suddenly the hairs on the back my neck prickled.

I was being watched.

My hand hesitated millimeters from the brick as I strained my ears, but it was useless. What would I hear in a place like this? There was no floor to creak, no leaves to rustle... nothing but this god-forsaken mist.

"You should have accepted my proposition."

I whirled around to face the voice. The blood drained out of my face when I saw that he was staring right at me. Not through me, or past me, but _right at me_. Apparently all the rules were being broken this time; I don't know why I would have assumed otherwise.

"You...you can see me?" I stammered.

His shockingly blue eyes narrowed, a feral grin spreading across his face. I knew then, _knew_ down to my very core, that this man was extremely dangerous. I'd always been able to feel what my dreamer was feeling – forced to feel, in fact. And all I felt now was an emptiness – no, a calculated coldness. His confident manner on the street hadn't been an act. I had been right when I'd pinned him as having combat training of some kind. And worst of all, he was smart. Very smart. Even if I hadn't just _known _that, I would have figured it out eventually. He would have been eaten alive on the streets had he not been just as dangerous as the people he chose to blend in with. Make no mistake, most had been juvenile jackasses – didn't make 'em any less dangerous.

I was suddenly _very_ thankful that Heero had shown up when he did.

He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Kid, you're just... pathetic!"

"What do you want from me?" I demanded.

"I told you. I have a proposition," he replied in that damn annoying drawl of his.

"Yeah, yeah, I got that," I snapped back irritably. "What, your mouth stuck on autopilot or something?"

Something exploded in the distance, too far away for me to discern what it was. Even so, the world around me flickered and the man's form shimmered out of view. For an instant, the wall was gone too, so I caught a glimpse out of my peripheral vision of what was behind it.

A room, and a sense of something... familiar...

The wall slammed back into place. Just like the memory before, the answer lay just out of my grasp.

"Stop that," he ordered. For the first time since our meeting, I saw a flicker of fear flash across his face. I felt a crack in his cold facade... felt it, deep in my gut.

And that meant, as dangerous as he was, that_ I_ had the power now. Because for some reason, somewhere hidden deep inside him, he was afraid... of me.

And that was something I was ready to exploit to my full advantage.

"Hey dude, don't blame me," I smirked. "This is your head we're in... pretty empty, isn't it?" I gazed around impassively, letting my fingers trail through the mist, idly watching as it trickled through my fingers. "Though, no offense dude, but I can't say that I'm surprised."

"You don't know anything," he growled.

"Don't I?" I widened my eyes, feigning surprise. "Oh, so, I guess when I say that I know you, that I _will_ find you, hunt you down and possibly kill you, and that you won't remember any of this conversation once you're whisked out of la-la land... is all a huge misunderstanding on my part?"

He didn't appear to know how to respond. His mouth gaped slightly, his hands clenched at his side. For the first time, I noticed he had a mark encircling on his wrist; one that could have been mistaken for the discoloration of an old burn had the skin not been perfectly smooth. Had that been there before, out of the dreamscape? Or had something happened to him here, in his mind, that was causing his subconscious to project it? The answer didn't come to me, and I filed it in the back of my mind to ponder about later.

"Why don't we make this easy on both of us? Tell me who you are," I demanded, my eyes narrowing dangerously.

He regarded me seriously for several long moments. I stood my ground, but that only seemed to amuse him.

"You just don't get it, do you?" the man chuckled, seemingly unperturbed by my glare. The fear I'd been feeling dissipated; as quickly as I'd gained the upper hand in the conversation, I lost it again. But how?

"Tell me who you are!" I ordered again. Another explosion erupted; this one even closer than before. I glanced over at the wall, hoping that I cold get a better look at what was behind it. But something knocked me off balance, and I fell to my knees, feeling like I was going to pass out.

Except... I was already out.

A small, red brick lay innocently beside me.

"Bye bye." Blue-eyes waved at me. I scrambled to my feet, only to be knocked down again by a second, and then a third. Deep inside me, I felt an incessant tugging sensation originating from somewhere far above me.

"Your name!" I yelled, beginning to panic. I knew what was happening now- I was losing the connection. I wouldn't be able to hold on for much longer.

For the first time in my life, I found myself fighting to stay in the dreamscape. It would have been easier if I could have held onto something, to counteract that now-constant tugging. For the lack of anything better, I lunged for one of the bricks.

His image faltered again. For a brief second, the whole world turned black. The brick; the weight in my hand disappeared. I fought back against the force pulling on me, but it was no use. It was too strong.

"Tell me!" I screamed into the darkness. "Tell me! Who are you? How do I know you?"

But it was too late.

"TELL ME!"

**20:32**

"No!" I woke up fighting - trying at least; the words slipped from my mouth before I even realized I was capable of forming them. "No, go back! Lemme go!"

A hand clapped sharply over my mouth, muffling my voice and shocking me into silence. Quatre's, I deduced quickly. Calloused palms from wielding the yoke in battle. Soft fingers from an easier upbringing than either my own, or Heero's. Definitely Quatre. Even knowing that (or perhaps because of it), I fought back the urge to retaliate. It wasn't easy.

When he was sure I'd understood the necessity to be quiet, he slowly uncovered my mouth.

"You okay?" he murmured.

"Quat, I was so close..." I choked out through clenched teeth. My breath hitched as pain lanced through my head, feeling remarkably like someone was driving spikes into my skull through my eyeballs. Why, when nothing else about my little 'problem' was playing by the rules tonight, did I still have to deal with this?

"Close to what?"

"I...I..."

Heero's voice, a small part of my mind helpfully provided. Caution...

"Nothing," I answered finally. "I was just... dreaming."

"Wonderful," Quatre huffed breathlessly, not recognizing the significance of that until the sarcastic retort had slipped from his mouth. In all fairness though, he sounded rattled, out of breath, and -if I wasn't mistaken from the occasional hitch in his breath- in pain too.

"Are you hurt?" Heero asked quietly, sounding remarkably calm. Dangerously so, in fact. Something told me that, short of having the shit beaten out of me, my night was not going to improve anytime soon.

I abstained from pointing out the fact that I'd just been unconscious as, through process of elimination, I'd deduced I was currently thrown over Heero's shoulder like I was his latest choice in duffel bags or something. My vision was slowly returning, hindered by the fact that it was actually dark outside. My head was pounding - but again, that was nothing out of the ordinary.

"My pride?" I snorted dryly, not particularly willing to go into further detail.

Even with my returning sight, I was still unprepared for when I suddenly found myself upended from over his shoulder back onto my feet. I slumped straight down to my knees and would've found myself eating pavement for the second time that night had two pairs of hands not grabbed me roughly under my armpits.

"Geez, he's heavier than he looks," Quatre huffed, grabbing onto the waistband of my pants with one hand until he could throw my arm over his shoulder with the other. And managing to give me a massive wedgie in the process, I might add.

"Do you have him?" Heero asked, from somewhere around my right ear.

"I hope so," Quatre groaned quietly, heaving again on my arm when I started slipping down his shoulder. That didn't sound too reassuring, not when it was _me _they were discussing, so I tried to help. Unfortunately, the normal paralysis that always accompanied my dream-walking escapades hadn't entirely worn off, and I only 'helped' in flattening what felt like Quatre's toes.

Quatre's breath hitched, the only indicator that that I'd guessed right. Judging from how both he and Heero were behaving, we were still close to our attackers. I hadn't been out for long, regardless of how much time seemed to have passed when I was there.

Something snaked under my shirt. I instinctively grabbed onto it with my free hand and twisted, before quickly realizing that it was Heero's arm.

"Your gun," Heero offered stiffly, retrieving it from my strut holster.

"A warning would be nice," I shot back, grabbing it from his hand and swiftly checking to make sure the clip hadn't been dislodged in the skirmish. "I could've broken your arm."

Heero snorted. A sarcastic one. I'd gotten good at telling them apart by now. But before I could think up some equally sarcastic comeback, he'd dropped back and disappeared, as if he'd never been there at all.

"Okay, say it," I sighed dramatically when I was sure Heero would be out of earshot. "I know you want to."

"What?" Quatre glanced over, looking a bit too innocent for my liking. "That I was right – that it was a bad idea to tick him off? That _he_ was right? Or should I just say, 'I told you so'?"

"Ha, ha and also, hah," I muttered. Had he always been this sassy, or had our last few months together rubbed off on him?

"You asked for it," he replied impudently, shifting his gun from his right hand, where my body weight would impede its use, to his left.

"You're supposed to be on my side," I groused. "I did get you out of the house, after all."

Quatre chuckled quietly. "I was under the impression that we were all on the same side."

I rolled my eyes. "Sure you haven't missed your true calling, Quat? Politician-extraordinaire?"

Quatre's eyes flashed; though, whether it was in reaction to me, or just the light from the street lamps hitting them, I wasn't quite sure. "Oh, I don't think so. I'd make a lousy politician," he replied lightly.

"Yeah, I guess," I chuckled. "You're too honest."

We turned down the next block and immediately cut into an alleyway to backtrack. It was more habit than anything - routine. We'd know instantly if there were anyone behind us; whether they were tailing us or not was a different story. Quatre scaled the chain link fence that was aimed at preventing people from using it as a thoroughfare, wobbled precariously on the top rail and leapt for the fire escape that started halfway up the wall. He snagged the side-rail, gained some momentum as he pushed his feet off the wall, and landed awkwardly on the first step. I was right behind him, uncharacteristically shaky as I got my balance on the fence. I leapt as well, and snagged his arm, allowing him to pull me up beside him.

"So, break it to me," I sighed, unable to stave off the suspense any longer. "On a scale of one to ten, how pissed is he?"

"Oh, somewhere between furious and homicidal," he replied casually, as we made it onto the roof.

I snorted. "Thanks for clarifying."

"Well, what did you expect me to say?" He raised his eyebrows in question. "He's mad. Even without my empathy I'd be able to feel it radiating from him. I can't exactly tell you what percentage of that is directed at you, what's aimed at me, and what's for the guys he's gone to hunt down, if that's what you're asking."

"Touche," I muttered. Then, "He's – WHAT?"

"Where did you think he'd gone?" Quatre replied curiously. "He's covering us so I can get you home."

"And what a joy that will be," I sighed grimly. "Well, with any luck, Wufei will still be locked up in his crypt. That only leaves Trowa to deal with."

Quatre frowned. "I don't think you'll be getting out of it that easily," he replied skeptically. "Not this time. Heero seemed pretty suspicious."

"He did? Why?"

"Well, both of us did try to stop him from taking that guy down for a start. Add in the fact that you went crashing to the ground not two seconds later, with no one close enough to be responsible... What are you going to tell them?"

"The truth," I shrugged.

He gave me an appraising look. "Which is...?"

"That we got jumped by a street gang, and that we took care of it."

"And the reason you went unconscious is... what exactly?" He turned suddenly, hands on his hips.

I gave him a wary look. "Quat, I thought I'd explained all this."

"Oh, _I _know all this," he huffed, looking slightly frazzled as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "What are you going to tell the others?"

"That we were in a fight," I repeated slowly, waiting for him to catch on.

"So, you're not going to tell them the real reason?" he clarified irritably.

We came to the end of the row of buildings, with no choice but to descend or sprout wings. As it was only a couple of stories, Quatre chose to leap down. I still wasn't trusting my legs to hold me for much longer, and my headache was screwing with my vision and depth perception, so I lowered myself over the side before letting go.

"Well, that's part of the real reason," I protested weakly as I landed, before catching his eye. I sighed. "If one of them asks me, 'Duo, did you go unconscious because you got pulled kicking and screaming into another dream?' I will most definitely say yes," I replied. Then amended quickly: "Or any variation of the question."

"Ah, so that's how you work is it?" he chuckled suddenly, sounding slightly triumphant. "Okay, then. What did they want with you?"

"_They _didn't want anything," I replied darkly, stumbling as my toe caught in a large crack in the sidewalk. "I don't know why they chose to get involved. Under normal circumstances they wouldn't have. It was the guy with the gun - he was the instigator."

"And the other two," Quatre added. I glanced at him sharply, impressed that he'd picked up on that. "They had to be military."

"I don't know," I mused thoughtfully. "They were trained, yeah, I'm not going to argue with you on that, but have you ever fought that caliber of military? OZ is training soldiers so fast these days that most are lucky they know which end of the gun to point with. These guys were good, Quat. They've done more than graduate boot camp."

Quatre gave me a wry grin. "You have a point. Actually, I was going to say the shorter guy – "

"Black-eyes?" I supplied helpfully, getting frustrated with trying to always figure out which guy we were talking about.

"Yes, him. I was going to say, he reminded me a little of Wufei," he offered tentatively. "There was just something about him... something very intense. Focused..." he trailed off absently, before shaking his head, and smiling at me. "Besides, that kick of his sent you flying."

"Yeah, don't remind me. I'm lucky that one didn't break my jaw," I muttered, rubbing the bruised appendage in memory. "They were good, but... I'm thinking they were just hired muscle."

"Why?"

"Because Gun-Guy knew me," I replied frankly, if not somewhat... reluctant. I didn't really want to tell him that just yet...not until I'd figured out who he was. "And I knew him too. The other two, Black-eyes and the Hulk, they weren't familiar."

Quatre responded the exact way I'd predicted. Which was to completely freak out. At least he managed to do it quietly.

"What do you mean, 'he knew you'?" Quatre hissed.

"I don't know – no, honestly, Quatre, if I knew I'd tell you." I held up my hand when I could see him preparing to argue. "You have your 'feelings' and I have my instincts. I don't know how or from where – "

"Well, who else but OZ?" Quatre protested vehemently. "Who else would be after you? Duo, you have to tell the others. This could mean all of us are in danger."

"We are not telling the others," I cried out, inwardly flinching when I realized how loud my voice had sounded echoing about the empty street. "He's not OZ. Dammit, Quatre, you think if OZ knew what we looked like they'd send a local street gang after us? Besides, why would he say that you were free to go?"

"A soldier wanting a promotion then. Saw you on one of your missions. Wants to capture you himself," Quatre fired back just quickly.

"If someone ever saw my face on a mission, I wouldn't let them live," I replied darkly. "Besides, if he had gotten close enough to see me on a job, I'd be able to place him in an instant. We haven't been fighting for that long. Few months. I couldn't forget a face that quickly if I tried."

I could see Quatre struggling to find a counter argument to that. Finally, he gave up and shook his head, not looking the least bit happy about it. "Fine. Fine, I won't tell the others. But, Duo, if I find out something that may put them in danger –"

I chuckled humorlessly. "If I find out something that would threaten them, I'll tell 'em myself. No one's going to be put in danger 'cause of me."

Famous last words if I ever heard them.

**21:04**

I shouldn't have been surprised, when Quatre opened the front door, to find myself staring down the scary end of a gun barrel.

But I was.

No one moved for what felt like a life time; not even Quatre, thank goodness. I've no doubts that if either of us had made any sudden move, however unintentional, Trowa would have pulled the trigger before even stopping to remember where he knew us from. All of us would have done the same in his place, so I couldn't really hold it against him.

It was reassuring to know that when his life was at stake, Quatre forgot to be clumsy.

I'd be even more reassured if Trowa'd take the damn gun out of my face. I was starting to go cross-eyed.

"Nice to see you too," I beamed at him, just as soon as he'd taken his finger safely off the trigger. He certainly didn't mess around – another eighth of an inch would've been all that was needed. "Mind if we come in?"

I kept a close eye on him as Quatre and I staggered almost comically into the hall, more to satisfy my own curiosity than anything. Back when I was younger, it was a rather useful skill to be able to size up an enemy and figure out what kind of weapons they were carrying, and where. It was something I still did now – but as the last month had been spent on the Winner estates and before that, in a prep school, my deadliest finds had been a turkey baster and a girl's lipstick. People's clothes tended to be the 'tell'. Take me for example: I tended to wear clothing that hung loosely on me, and had lots of pockets. It meant I could conceal a weapon just about anywhere – and I usually did. Quatre favored an ankle holster because his shirts tended to be made of material too thin to conceal a gun's profile. Heero usually wore his weapon openly – the greatest extent he'd go to conceal it would be to untuck his damn shirt. I hadn't even been able to determine if Wufei was more than a figment of my imagination, let alone where he kept a gun.

But Trowa... he tended to favor the tighter, form-fitting clothes like Heero. And it was driving me absolutely _bonkers_ that I couldn't figure out where he managed to stash a gun in them.

I was disappointed yet again. I made the mistake of blinking, and the gun had vanished. I'd seen every sleight-of-hand con known to man – he'd put all of them all to shame.

"So, you two would be the reason Heero went flying out of here like the house was on fire?" Trowa asked finally, raising an eyebrow.

"Brilliant powers of observation," I chuckled wryly, receiving an elbow in the ribs from Quatre.

Fortunately, Trowa took the comment for what it was, his eyes twinkling in amusement. I was beginning to like the guy more and more. He didn't read into everything I said like there was a hidden meaning or insult.

"Are you okay?" His eyes flickered over us, taking in my torn pants, the blood on my face and jeans and then over to Quatre, whose hair was slowly gaining strawberry blond highlights as the blood seeped into it, giving it a pinkie hue.

"Just duck – Uh-oh," I groaned, as my mouth began to salivate uncontrollably, and my stomach did a back-flip. I clapped a hand over my mouth and bolted towards the bathroom without another word.

I didn't so much close the door, as it rebounded off the wall and slammed shut on its own; the knob left a large hole in the drywall. I fell to my knees, and threw up in the toilet, heaving until there was nothing left. I stayed there for several more minutes, spitting blood and saliva out; unable to force myself to swallow it any longer. Add that to my list of injuries – sometime during the fight I must have bitten my tongue. It was the only cause I could think of for the bleeding - I hadn't taken any hit hard enough to cause internal damage.

I heard the soft sound of footsteps in the hall. Without taking my head away from the safety of the toilet bowl, I reached up and fumbled around until I could feel the sink, and turned on the tap. It was bad enough throwing up without knowing that someone was listening to me do it.

I let it run until I heard the footsteps retreating back down the hall. By that time I'd stopped shaking enough to risk standing up without falling. Now that my stomach had been placated, I began to feel a little better. I turned on the shower, letting the water warm and only paused long enough to remove my belt - purely so that my holster, which had a strap looped though it, wouldn't be damaged by the moisture.

I jumped in, clothes and all, and stayed under the stream until the water lost the pink tinge from the blood staining my clothes. I stripped off my t-shirt first, scrubbing the fabric together with my hands before wringing it out and tossing it over the towel rail. My jeans weren't so easy to clean – most of the blood had already dried and permanently stained the material. I squirted some shampoo on them the same time I lathered my hair, and let them sit on the edge of the tub to soak. I wasn't too bothered – wouldn't be the first time I'd had blood on my clothes and definitely not the last.

I rushed the rest of the shower, suddenly remembering that Quatre would probably want one too, and most likely wouldn't be be impressed if the water was only slightly above freezing.

The bathroom had completely fogged up by the time I shut off the tap. I didn't bother to wipe down the mirror – it wasn't like I needed it to do my hair anyway. I wrung out what water I could into the tub and braided it looser than usual, more to keep it from getting tangled before I managed to find my brush. I'd neglected to bring a towel – the sudden urge to vomit had been slightly more pressing at the time, so I pulled my wet t-shirt over my head and left the bathroom in just it and my boxers, leaving a trail of water along the wood floor.

Quatre slipped in behind me; he'd been smart enough to grab a fresh change of clothes and a towel first. I hadn't even made it through the door to our room when I heard the shower running again. I dressed quickly and spent slightly longer drying my hair off properly with my towel before strapping my holster and gun back on.

I popped a couple of pain killers for my head, and began to work on brushing my hair. Maybe I was delaying going back to the kitchen – I don't know, but it was more than likely. I can't exactly say I was too thrilled about the prospect of being interrogated by Mr. Heero-the-freakin'-Hero.

I heard a strange sound the moment I opened the bedroom door. I froze, but it was too late - the sound had already stopped. Had they heard me? I cocked my head and strained my ears, but there was nothing – the entire safehouse was unnaturally quiet. Just as I raised my foot, I heard it again – the unmistakable sound of Quatre, laughing. That alone shocked me – I mean, I was here, and he was in there. I certainly didn't think he was making himself laugh, and who the hell else in this house besides the two of us was capable of telling a joke? A funny one, at that.

It was decided then. I just HAD to know. Mission-freaking-accepted. I edged closer to the kitchen without so much as creaking a floorboard, well aware that I was essentially flirting with death at this point. You don't sneak around in a house of armed soldiers. You make noise. You scuff the floorboards and jump up and down if you have to. It was probably the only damn rule in the house.

Quatre was perched on a stool in the middle of the kitchen. The gash over his eye had reopened, probably from the shower, and blood was running freely down the side of his face in rivulets; dripping off his chin onto a towel around his shoulders. Trowa was bent over him, armed with a needle in one hand, and a pair of scissors in the other. I could see the mild apprehension on Quatre's face even from where I was standing, but then Trowa said something again, and Quatre appeared to relax, chuckling slightly as he tipped his head back so Trowa was able to see what he was doing.

They were so peaceful to watch.

I don't know why. I mean, you think of blood and needles, well, those words don't exactly conjure up warm fuzzy feelings. Perhaps it was the simplicity of it, or by the sudden warmth that appeared to have filled the usually dingy room. Or perhaps it came from the sudden realization that if anything ever happened to me, there was someone else out there that could make Quatre smile like I could. The guy may have a lot of people in his life; but as far as I was concerned, the amount of people wasn't important if you could never smile around 'em. It didn't matter that I couldn't hear them – if I could have, I probably would have given myself away sooner. I don't eavesdrop on people's private conversations; it's not my style. But this was too good an opportunity to pass up. This was...therapeutic.

"What are you doing?"

I swear I jumped about a foot in the air, even as my body instinctively whirled and lashed out with a fist. Given the night's events, I was a tad touchier than normal, and I didn't hold back.

Heero caught my fist in his own hand – it felt like I'd smacked a brick wall – and seemed to be downright smug about the fact he'd managed to sneak up on me. Don't ask me how I knew that. Probably something in his eyes. He may not speak with his mouth much, but I don't think even he realized how much his eyes sometimes did it for him. Behind me, in the kitchen, I heard a series of painful thuds, a clatter from the stool and a combined squeak-thunk as Quatre landed on the floor.

"Geez, Heero, didn't you ever learn not to sneak up on people?" I yelled, conveniently forgetting I was being busted for doing just that. "Why isn't anyone following the damn rules tonight?"

His eyes narrowed minutely but he didn't say anything. I resisted the urge to bang my head on the door frame at my stupidity for letting even that slip out – if things continued to go as they had been tonight, with my luck I would have only brought the safehouse crashing down around us. When he finally let go of my fist, I stalked into the kitchen, unwilling and unable to meet his unwavering gaze any longer. I no longer liked what it had to say.

Quatre was still seated on the floor, also unwilling to meet anybody's eyes. He was staring intently at the red stain dripping from his face onto the linoleum. His ears deepened in color to the point that they looked painful. Trowa was standing with a hand held out, patiently waiting for Quatre to notice it so he could help him up.

I sank down onto another stool. Trowa helped Quatre back on to his – I noticed for the first time that Quatre still had the needle and thread dangling from his eyebrow. It was probably only Trowa's super-fast reflexes that had saved him from stabbing it into Quatre's eye when he fell off the chair. That, or maybe he'd known I was there all along. I didn't know much about the guy other than he was very quiet, and not much appeared to bother him. If I liked listening in at doorways, then he was cool with that; at least, I wouldn't be surprised if he thought that way.

In fact, you could almost say he was oblivious to it all, like right now. He continued stitching up Quatre's eyebrow like nothing had ever happened – seemingly unaware that Quatre had fallen silent, with none of the humor from before. Heero was still standing in the doorway, somehow managing to glare and yet look very lost at the same time. But to call Trowa oblivious would be to call him stupid, and he certainly wasn't that.

I sighed, and rested my head in my hands, gently rubbing at the lump forming on my forehead. It didn't hurt; at least, not compared to the headache that was still gaining in intensity behind my eyes. It sounds kinda morbid, but I didn't mind the physical pain. It helped to beat back the anger brewing in my gut – at Heero, for ruining what had been such a peaceful moment; at that guy, for essentially 'outing' my problem; and at myself. God, was I pissed at myself. Just because I grew up on the streets, I thought I knew everything. Every ploy, every trick... I got cocky. And now I was paying for it.

I didn't mean to brood; hadn't even realized I was doing it until the snip of the scissors, which was almost deafening in the quiet room, shook me out of it.

"Take a freakin' picture, Yuy," I growled at the table, feeling someone's eyes trained onto me, and taking a wild stab at who those eyes belonged to. "It'll last longer."

I heard several pairs of footsteps navigating the room, but couldn't be bothered to keep track of who was where. I regretted that the moment I sensed someone beside me, and looked up as a hand was thrust in front of my nose. I glanced up in surprise, unable to move for several seconds. Then I slowly took the towel Heero was offering me. Cold water dribbled down my arm, and I could feel it had ice wrapped in it.

"Thanks," I grunted as I held it to my forehead, and barely managed to contain my content sigh as the throbbing began to subside almost instantaneously.

He retreated to the corner of the room and leaned with his back against the kitchen counter, still staring at me with an odd intensity. Quatre had been watching the whole exchange with a smug little smirk tugging on the corners of his mouth. When I caught his eye, the smirk morphed into a devious smile...and then his face froze.

"Duo, what happened to... your face?" he exclaimed.

"Fist. Face. Sidewalk," I replied shortly, pointing first to my face, then the towel and mimed them slamming into each other.

"But –"

"Who were they?" Trowa asked, smoothly interrupting Quatre and skipping right to the point. He glanced at Heero. "I assume you followed them?"

"Hm," Heero nodded, scowling suddenly. "I lost them though."

"You lost them?" I laughed harshly. "You? How?"

"You left six standing," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "I'm still only one person, remember?"

That won a genuine laugh from me, surprised he'd remembered that conversation from all those months ago.

"And who?" Trowa asked again pointedly, folding his arms across his chest and lounging against the other counter.

"Local street gang," I shrugged. "Getting their daily dose of shits'n'giggles."

He appeared to process that carefully, his face appearing closed off to the rest of us as he thought. Heero snorted from his corner, but surprisingly, didn't say a word. Judging by what Quatre had said earlier, I'd been prepared for fireworks to go off in the kitchen when Heero finally got his hands on me. But things almost seemed...civilized in here. Heero, so far at least, appeared to be content to let Trowa do all the questioning. 'Heero' and 'content' were two words I'd never thought I'd be able to include in the same sentence. If I wasn't so grateful for it right this second, I'd be starting to feel a little jealous that Trowa had somehow gained Heero's respect.

"Do we have to be worried about it happening again?" Trowa asked tactfully.

"Hey, I know Heero's makin' it sound like we let a bunch of 'em go, but we dealt with the main ones," I replied defensively. "The oh-my-god-squad that Heero followed didn't attack us, and the ones we took out will be stuck in the hospital for the foreseeable future. They'd be stupid to come back for seconds anyway."

Quatre's eyes narrowed with that, as he considered my careful choice of wording. His lips pursed slightly, but true to his word, he kept quiet. I purposely looked away from him and caught Heero eying him suspiciously, deep in thought. It was almost ridiculous, the amount of unspoken conversation going on in this room tonight.

"Who was the guy with the gun?" Heero asked finally, getting scarily close to touching on questions I didn't want to answer.

I forced myself to remain totally calm, something made extremely hard by the sudden pounding in my chest. "You tell me," I shrugged. "I barely got a good look at him – I was slightly distracted by the gun he held to the back of my head."

"No description?" Trowa asked, looking slightly taken-aback.

"Dirty Blond hair in a crew cut, blue eyes, no distinguishing marks... thirty-five to forty years old. Probably describes half the population on the colony," I replied ruefully.

"What about you?" he dipped his head minutely at Heero, as if tagging him into the conversation. "Did you get a better look?"

"Yes. I was watching them for a while before I intervened," he replied unabashedly.

My head whipped around so fast at that, that I nearly fell off my stool. Quatre choked on his glass of water, and had to spit the mouthful back into the cup before it went all over the floor.

He'd been watching us? We were just barely managing to not get the crap kicked out of us, and all he could think of doing was _watch?_

"He was nearing two hundred pounds. No distinguishing facial marks other than a small titanium stud in his left ear. He was right-handed. His clothing was appropriate for his surroundings. I saw what I thought was a port-wine stain on his left wrist."

"And in English that is...?" I sighed dramatically.

"Birth mark," he replied shortly, before adding somewhat reluctantly, "I didn't get a good look, though. Could have been a a bruise, or a bracelet of some type – the edges were really too defined to be a birth mark. But the color was right."

I fell out of the conversation after that. The others most definitely noticed; Quatre was shooting me sympathetic looks every couple of minutes, but the ice pack was a good prop. The icy water dribbling down my neck was an annoyance, but at least the icepack itself led the others to believe I was injured, and therefore could be expected to act abnormally.

Finally, I got fed up with the drone of voices interrupting my thoughts and I got up from the table and left the room without any explanation. I was tired. I wanted to think. I wanted some damn sleep of my own. I wanted answers. I needed to pee.

I guess one of the five wishes would have to do.

**22:26**

What the hell?

**22:27**

It couldn't be –

**22:28**

I quickly replayed back the night, wondering how I could have missed this. It certainly explained a lot... the weird looks from Trowa and Heero – and Quatre's downright bizarre remark in the kitchen. But, had I seriously managed to go all night without–

Yeah... yeah, I had. I hadn't looked at it in the bathroom, because it was ...fogged up. God, why did there have to be stupid fucking fog everywhere tonight? I hated it! Clouding everything...his mind, my mind...god, I didn't want to remember his mind.

And no one else had bothered to tell me.

Well duh. They wouldn't know the meaning of it. Trivial, to them. Even Quatre hadn't understood the significance... because I wouldn't tell them anything.

But there it was. Staring back at me. Reflections didn't lie.

My eyes.

Blood red.

Every capillary ruptured.

….and suddenly, I felt very scared.

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**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who's been reading/reviewing. Means a lot to me. ^^ I've loved reading all your theories too, some are very close! Maybe this chapter will give you a few more clues...As always, **Aynessa**, thanks for being such a wonderful beta-reader. It took guts telling me this chapter had to be redone, and it's much better because of it. You always seem to know what I need - a whether it be a word of encouragement, or a flying possum thrown at me. ^^

Thanks for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** So sorry for the delay. I've been plagued by internet problems (quit smirking, Ayni) and a crazy work schedule. If I've missed replying to any reviews, I apologize. I greatly appreciate all feedback I get, and I'll try to not let it happen again. Huge thanks to Aynessa for being such a fabulous beta reader. If there are any Code Geass fans reading, be sure to check out her fic _Sleeping Habits_. Make sure you have a stack of tissues handy!

If you don't like yaoi, you should probably stop reading. ^_^ Consider yourself warned.

* * *

**Chapter 12**

* * *

**23:38**

I didn't normally struggle with falling asleep, even when I was sleeping alone. I was like a cat that way – find a safe corner to curl up in, and I was out. But tonight, my head just would not shut-up. Somehow, without having the decency to warn me, life had decided to get very complicated. Hah, as if it hadn't been already.

To start with, I had a guy after me, but I didn't know why. I didn't know what he wanted. I didn't know how he knew me. I didn't even know his damn name.

In short, I didn't know a whole helluva lot. And that really pissed me off.

Oh, I could make some guesses. Like I'd told Quatre, I didn't think he knew me as a Gundam Pilot. In fact, I'd take that a step further and say, I didn't think he was on this colony with the intent of meeting me. The Gundams and pilots were wanted by both OZ and the colonies, and it's not like either group had managed to hunt us down, even with all their resources. So how did he? And the attack itself had just seemed... sloppy. He wasn't stupid; that much information I'd managed to glean from in his head. He was smart; ruthless. A very scary combination. So why attack us in the middle of the street? Why get a bunch of bystanders involved?

Maybe I'd just answered my own question. We'd only been on this colony for a couple days. It wasn't believable to think he'd managed to gain a reputation with the street gang he was with in that amount of time. No, I think he'd just gotten lucky finding me, and jumped on the opportunity to strike while it was there.

And then there was that dream of his. Could you even call it a dream? He saw me. He _talked _ to me... and I think he managed to hurt me too. It was too much of a coincidence to think that all the hemorrhages in my eyes were unrelated to the red-out I'd experienced in his dream. This was different from all the other times I'd woken up from dreams with injuries. Scratches, bruises, the odd dislocated finger – those, I'd done myself. I couldn't have done this.

It takes a lot to scare me. I've been out-numbered and out-gunned more times than I can count – and I loved it. Loved the rush, the high, the challenge... if there was ever an ounce of fear to be found in me, it's never shown up on the battlefield. I think the last time I felt anything remotely like fear, would be when Heero threw himself out of that Alliance hospital without a 'chute...nah, not even then. Stunned, yes. Pissed off, certainly, I mean, I went through a lot of trouble to save the idiot. Maybe even a smidgen of admiration; the guy certainly had guts, if a suicidal death wish could be called that.

But this was entirely different circumstances. This wasn't anything to do with our fight for peace; this wasn't the battlefield – this was my head. He hurt me, and I had no idea how. I didn't know how to stop it from happening again. I didn't even know if it was _possible_ to stop it from happening. Until then...I could never feel safe in the dreamspace again.

Add in the fact that Heero was getting more suspicious, and now Trowa was involved too... all in all, you had the ingredients for one _really_ shitty day.

With all that running through my head, it was hard to just lie on my damn bed and pretend to sleep. Every thirty seconds or so, I'd have to beat back the urge to turn over. I'd been given the cot to sleep in for the duration of my stay here, and the rusty springs squealed every time I moved. Heero, Quatre and Trowa were all still awake, and I didn't want to alert them to the fact that I was also. What if they'd forgotten something in their 'interrogation'?

I had enough questions of my own to answer.

I didn't need theirs too.

**23:57**

I heard Trowa's footsteps first. If someone was to ask me how I knew that, I don't think I'd be able to explain it. Maybe with his longer legs, the steps were further apart. It's just a theory. But I could tell everyone apart by their footsteps just as easily as I could by their voices. I tracked him as he went into the bathroom, again when he left, but thankfully, he didn't come near my door.

I heard the quiet exchange of words between him and Heero. Heard as Trowa went into the room he shared with Heero, while Heero went back down the hall. Heero never did seem to sleep as much as the rest of us.

It wasn't long until I heard Quatre approaching. He seemed to hesitate down the hallway, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, like he was nervous. Whatever he was doing, it wasn't long until he gave up, and slipped into our room, balancing the fine line of trying to be quiet without being sneaky.

I shifted, pretending to stir as the door clicked shut, and use the opportunity to roll over to face the wall. I heard rustling as he pulled off his clothes, then the squeak of bed-springs as he climbed into his own bed.

I'd been waiting for it, so I didn't jump when he whispered, "Duo?"

Even if I'd been in the deepest of sleep, someone calling my name would have woken me up in an instant – except if I'd been stuck in a dream, of course. Quatre knew this as well as I did. I knew he wanted to ask me about my eyes, but all I wanted to do now was forget about them. Thankfully, he was graceful enough to allow me to feign sleep.

Pretending to sleep though, was easier said than done. It was hard to keep my breathing steady. Every noise, creak and squeak that came from his bed as he tossed and turned made me want to hold my breath to listen. But when he'd finally gotten comfortable, it was easier...and by the time I felt the familiar pull of his dreams tugging at the edge of my consciousness, I'd nearly fallen asleep myself.

Even though I'd spent the last couple of months with Quatre, I'd only been in his dreams a handful of times. With the Maganacs, we'd each had our own rooms; hell, at his mansion I'd had a whole damn suite of them, though what they were all for was beyond me.

Years ago, back when I was still in training, I'd done some research on dreams. There were a bunch of theories out there trying to explain why people dream. Some sounded a little wacko to me, but one struck me as being slightly more sane; suggesting that dreams allow us to deal with problems. Being as I was someone who'd never actually had a dream of my own, I didn't know if that made me the best person to judge that.

With Quatre, at least, that certainly seemed to be the case...but come to think of it, it wasn't like he was normal either. From the few times I'd been in his dreams, I was always bombarded with emotions – feeling them from everyone around him. To me, it was completely overwhelming. I once assumed that his dreams recreated that sense because that was what he was used to feeling. In the last couple of days, however, I'd began to doubt that. Now, I wondered if that was the only way he could process everything without losing it. Dealing with your own emotional baggage was hard enough without having everyone else's forced upon you. I sometimes thought he had it worse than I did. At least my problem only affected me while people were sleeping. His was all the time; he couldn't turn it off.

I floated there lazily for a while, while things remained shadowy and insubstantial. Every now and then, a scene would pop into view – Black-eyes' face, Trowa's gun greeting us at the door – each memory was as clear as if he was recalling it from a photograph.

Trowa's face lingered the longest, the gun gleaming in his hand. Suddenly, it wavered, not because his hand shook, but because it was actually shrinking, changing, until he was left holding a needle. We were back in the kitchen, though this time I wasn't behind the door, but behind Quatre. I still couldn't hear their voices – wasn't able to read lips either, though I could see Trowa's moving. It was like...I just couldn't be bothered to try. It was very warm...cozy, like laying in front of a roaring fire on a cold night, except that the warmth was radiating from inside Quatre and Trowa, filling the room. A small smile played over my lips as I watched them, the peace and tenderness between them bordering on intoxicating.

I closed my eyes, so I was just _feeling; _basking in the warmth, not distracted by anything else. I didn't need to see them. This was peace in its purest form; this was what we were trying to save. I wanted to savor this feeling, so that the next time I was in battle, I could remember this – that this was why we were fighting in the war. To save people that had the potential to feel things like this.

I was so enthralled with the ambiance, that I noticed the instant it changed. The change was almost imperceptible at first – a mere flicker, deep down inside of me – us.

"Shall we?" Trowa asked, a hint of amusement betraying his otherwise steady tone.

I opened my eyes, to find Quatre sprawled on the floor like he had been earlier that night. There wasn't any blood pooling at his feet this time, nor did Quatre look embarrassed.

Trowa held out a hand.

Quatre took it.

The change in ambiance was growing. I couldn't say it was a bad change, but nevertheless, it made me feel slightly uneasy; almost like a sense of deja vu.

The scene shimmered; although the view around me was vague and hazy, everything quickly snapped into place for me. I knew what was happening – what was going to happen.

And suddenly, I was fervently wishing I was any place but here.

My eyes slammed shut of their own free will at the sight of the first gentle caress, but that didn't do anything to block the throaty moans, the little gasps, the murmurs of endearment. I was thankful, not for the first time, that occasionally there came a benefit to people not noticing me in their dreams. The gasping became more ragged, sentences were stilted into syllables, I could hear skin slapping on skin. The pressure was building, a sensation I could feel heating my groin and further, deep down inside me; I could feel what Quatre felt, and therefore what Trowa felt also; the desperate need, the desire, the pleasure growing between them until it was all but unbearable.

My throat felt like it was being constricted from the frustration, my body on fire, wanting to be touched also. But no matter how much I tried - god knows I tried - I couldn't move; couldn't escape; couldn't block out the sounds that should have been for their ears alone. My face burned in shame at being forced to hear this, but even now, even tears that weren't born from sadness but from absolute frustration, weren't allowed to fall.

As they climaxed, I ground my jaw; tried to focus on my heart pounding in my chest; tried to

feign oblivion to what was happening, tried to be anywhere but here.

And suddenly –

I was.

**02:02**

Quatre shot awake, gasping and letting go of a strangled half-moan. I was a little slower to come around; only the usual sleep-paralysis kept me still. By some miracle, I managed to keep my chest rising and falling as evenly as before. It wouldn't fool him for long, not if he really thought about it, but I was determined to keep up the pretense of sleep for as long as he allowed me.

Through a cracked eyelid, I saw him glance over at me, face flushed, sweaty, and ashamed. Without another sound, he slipped out the door. I heard the sink from down the hall, and his soft, stifled sobs through the paper-thin walls. And I forced myself to wait there, even though all I wanted to do was stroke my own erection, to buck my hips into the mattress and bring myself to the same completion, however unsatisfactory it would be in comparison. I don't get some perverse pleasure from watching sexual fantasies. I just didn't need the reminder. Everything they – or, rather _he'd_ felt had tricked my body into thinking it was my lust. And every throb from my groin, the way my body responded at the subtle friction from the fabric of my boxers, was all just a painful reminder that I'd just violated my best friend's mind.

Quatre slipped back into the room and I heard a rustling of cloth as he changed his boxers. A long, agonizing fifteen minutes passed. I forced myself to stay absolutely still except the steady rising of my chest, and the occasional muscle twitch. Even then, it still didn't feel long enough - but I didn't want to risk Quatre falling asleep on me and getting stuck in his head again; so, bracing myself, I groggily rolled over, pretending to struggle with sleep as I pulled myself up until I was sitting on the side of the bed. I rubbed my face, yawned and did everything possible to keep up the act of innocence, all while keeping my body discretely turned away so he wouldn't see the evidence that I was still very much turned on. Finally, I felt safe enough to slip out of the room.

I ended up going to the bathroom as well, just so Quatre wouldn't find it weird that I was getting out of bed in the middle of the night. I cranked the tap on and left it running full blast into the sink while I went and slumped down on the toilet seat, trying not to remember what I'd seen; trying to banish the sounds of passionate lovemaking from my head.

I couldn't take much more of this. I just couldn't.

It was bad enough getting pulled into the sexual fantasies of random people, but my best friend's? That was crossing the line. I didn't need this right now – hell, I didn't need this _ever_. It was far from concrete evidence, but now I thought about it, it could possibly explain his behavior towards Trowa these past couple of days - not that I cared about that. People had the right to keep secrets!

I had to get outta here. I couldn't spend another night in this place.

I groaned, burying my head in my hands. I couldn't. Not tonight. Wandering around outside in only my boxers wasn't exactly the best way to keep a low profile in the neighborhood. And I couldn't get my stuff – either I'd be sucked right back into Quatre's head when I went into the room, or he'd be awake to ask me why I was packing.

I couldn't do that to him. He was bound to figure out eventually that I saw his dream. How would it make him feel, if I ran? Would he think I didn't approve? That it disgusted me?

Far from it. For one, it'd make me a hypocrite, not that he actually knew that. Hell, I dunno - he might have guessed already, but I hadn't outright told him. Two, I didn't presume to tell people whom it was and wasn't okay to be attracted to. It's why we were all give free will and brains capable of thought – he could make his own decisions.

It had been a very long time since I'd cared about anyone other than myself.

I growled, and fought back the urge to lash out at something. I felt trapped. This house and the people in it were a damn cage. I couldn't leave! I ground my teeth in agitation, and counted back from ten, trying to calm down. When that didn't work, I started at a hundred. When I reached zero, I felt a little more rational. Getting angry wouldn't solve anything. I had to accept I was stuck here until morning.

The only thing I had to solve tonight...was where to sleep.

**03:12**

That proved to be more difficult than I thought it would have been. The couch had been my first logical choice.

Unfortunately, it also seemed to be occupied.

By unspoken agreement, when we'd all moved into this place, we'd moved the couch as far away from the window as possible. Tucked into the corner of the room, with no lights on and only the faintest gleam penetrating in from the street lamps outside, Heero had melded in with the shadows. I didn't sense him until I was nearly seated in his lap.

I sprang back around to face him, my heart racing from the sudden surprise. But he didn't say anything, not even when I'd been about to squash him. I stared at where I guessed his eyes to be as the silence dragged on between us.

"What're you doing?" I asked finally.

"Sitting," came the characteristically short reply.

I had a feeling that if I started to laugh right now, I probably wouldn't have been able to stop, so I settled on rolling my eyes. It felt good to do that. One word from him and things felt like they were edging back into the range of normality.

At least, a game of 'state the obvious' was something I could handle right now.

"Uh-huh, I can see that," I nodded sagely, "Sitting by yourself, in a dark room, in the middle of the night. Slightly creepy, but hey, we'll forget about that for now, 'cause I'm really not in the mood to care. Why're you still up?"

"Why are you?" he countered, sounding very tired.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to answer a question with a question?" I grumbled, figuring it'd sound too whiny to say 'No fair, I asked first.'

"They forgot to tell you too," he replied dryly.

He got me there. It was one of my favorite ways to answer someone, without actually answering them. Trust him to notice.

I sighed heavily, tiredly scrubbing my face with my hands. "Heero, why are you still awake? It's late."

"You hit your head," he replied gruffly, not making the slightest bit of sense that I could see. Not that I could actually see, but that was beside the point.

I snorted wryly – it slipped out even before I could stop it. "Brilliant observation, Heero. Was it the lump growing out of my forehead that gave it away? Or the fact that you saw it happen?"

I was really beginning to venture into dangerous territory here.

My eyes had adjusted to the dim light enough now, so that I could see his profile. With Heero, though, it wasn't just enough to see his body language. It took something very unexpected to get Heero to reveal anything he didn't want to. Without being able to see his eyes – the dilation and constriction of the pupils, the subtle narrowing of the lids – I couldn't tell if I was pissing him off, or if he was humoring me for the time being. It was kinda like playing Russian Roulette – except... oddly fun. Albeit equally dangerous.

"Trowa said you threw up," he stated neutrally, sweeping his hair out of his face with a hand. True to form, it stubbornly fell right back into place.

I resisted the urge to slap my forehead as soon as I realized where he was going with this line of questioning. Sometimes I wondered if he liked playing these little games – saying as little as possible and waiting to see how long before I caught on. "So you put two-and-two together and got five, right? Just because I hit my head, _does_ _not_ mean I had a concussion. I bit my tongue, Heero. I was swallowing the damn blood the whole way back here and that tends to piss off your stomach. _That's _why I threw up. Besides, even if I did have a damn concussion, what were you planning on doing about it from in here?"

"Why did you pass out?" he asked, ignoring my own question even though it had been completely legitimate.

"Uh, I was in a fight?" I chuckled darkly. "Though, from what you said in the kitchen, seems like you saw that. For quite awhile, actually. Didn't occur to you that you could have helped out sooner?"

"You were handling it just fine without me," he shrugged, surprising me. "Why are you lying?"

Now he was the one treading in dangerous territory. I made a promise never to lie a very long time ago; back when my word was the only possession I had, and the only thing I could give people. I'd never broken it, though there may have been temptations at times. Being honest wasn't the easiest to do when you had as many secrets as I did. But, I'd certainly never given Heero any reason to doubt my word.

"I don't lie," I replied warningly, my voice dangerously low. There were no jokes here. I wanted there to be no misinterpretation. "Not ever. Don't ever accuse me of that again."

"Lying by omission is still lying," he shot back swiftly, seemingly unperturbed by my tone.

"Well, using that logic, you lie all the time, seeing as you never say anything!" I hissed, only remembering at the last second to keep my voice down. Some people in the house were still managing to sleep. Somehow.

"So, who was the guy?" he challenged again, like he hadn't even heard me.

"I didn't know the first time you asked, still don't know now," I replied peevishly.

"What did he ask you?"

I hesitated for a split second before answering that one. However unintentional, he'd just revealed two things to me. The first being that he'd been watching the confrontation for a lot longer than I'd initially realized. The second, that he hadn't been in a position to read the guy's lips. He'd come from behind... did that mean, he'd been following them...following us?

"He said he had a proposition for me," I answered slowly, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Why?"

"I don't know, Heero. He was kinda busy holding a gun to my head. But we did plan to go for coffee the same time next week, so–"

"Why did you pass out?" he cut me off. I didn't need to see his eyes now, to feel them boring into me.

"I already answered that," I replied flippantly, waving my hand in the air. "If we're goin' to play twenty-questions, as least make 'em count."

"That's right. 'Fist. Face. Sidewalk.'," he replied bitterly, echoing back my words from a few hours ago – coming from him, they sounded very odd. "You fooled Quatre easily enough with that one."

"I didn't fool Quatre with anything," I replied truthfully, if a little snidely.

He snorted. "Okay then. What happened between 'face' and 'sidewalk'? No one was close enough to hit you. You didn't trip. Tell me the truth."

I was beginning to feel like I was back in one of those damn prep-schools again, with a teacher brandishing a finger in front of my face. "I have been telling you the truth," I reiterated stubbornly.

"Dammit, Duo," he growled angrily, letting his temper slip for the first time that night. His fists were clenched at his side, trembling. Going on what Quatre had said about his mood earlier, I was mildly surprised he'd kept it in check this long. "Tonight you let a guy get close enough to hold a gun to your head. You collapsed in the middle of a fight. So just tell me already!"

"Heero, I fucked up, okay?" I replied fiercely. "That's what happened. I underestimated him. You saved my ass tonight, and I'm kinda grateful for that 'cause I happen to like my ass just fine the way it is, but I don't owe you an explanation."

Except, maybe I did. Could I really blame him for being angry about something he didn't understand? Wouldn't I behave in the same way, if the situation was reversed? It was a dangerous thing, in our profession, to faint with no probable cause. More dangerous still to be partnered with someone like that.

I growled in frustration, rubbing again at my face with shaky hands, not just because I was missing out on sleep. I wanted to promise him it'd never happen again, but I couldn't. I wanted to promise him that I wouldn't jeopardize our future missions... but I couldn't.

"Heero... if you really want to know, ask me again, and I will tell you," I replied slowly, reluctantly. "But, just know that... I don't want to."

It was the best thing I could think of saying, under the circumstances. I could see his body stiffen – now that comment had surprised him. It had been a gamble on my part – it certainly wouldn't do anything to quell his suspicions, but maybe he'd respect my desire to keep some parts of my life a secret. Maybe he actually did trust my judgment – that I would reveal things if I felt they'd endanger us.

Was I already betraying that trust?

I grimaced. Should I just tell him?

Probably.

Could I?

Suddenly, my mouth couldn't find the words.

I was so surprised when he spoke again, that I nearly answered the previous question, instead of listening to what he was actually asking me.

"Sorry, what?"

"I asked why you were awake," he replied, sounding oddly distant, as if he was thinking about something very intently.

"Oh," I muttered, my face reddening at the memory. For the first time, I was thankful we were having this conversation in the dark. "Quatre...was having a dream. Woke him up. Woke me up too."

"So you were coming to sleep on the couch?" he replied, sounding mildly curious.

I smirked at him, knowing that even if he couldn't see it, he'd hear it in my voice. "Well, believe it or not, most people sleep at night. I was hoping to get some too."

Heero grunted. I wondered, somewhat amused, if he knew how vague his standard reply was. It could have been anything from a laugh, to an assent, or indigestion.

I also knew that now wasn't the time to bring it up.

"Night, Heero," I murmured, turning to go.

I heard a sudden scuffle of socked feet on bare wood behind me, and I stiffened, cocking my head to listen. But I didn't hear anything else.

"What is it?" I breathed, knowing he'd hear me. Hell, he managed to hear a lot of things I hadn't intended for him to over the past few months. "Did you hear something?"

He didn't answer me right away. I turned around, careful how I placed my weight on the floor so the boards wouldn't creak. "Heero?"

Whereas before he'd been reclined into the cushions, now he was poised tensely on the edge of the couch, most of his weight supported by his hands. "Where are you going to sleep?"

"I dunno. Bathtub, I guess," I chuckled wryly. "Good a place as any. Even has a door that locks. Pretty sure Wufei left a towel in there that'd make an excellent blanket. Think he'd mind?"

I could feel him staring at me for several long moments. I wished I could see the expression on his face. He was a hard one to predict otherwise.

A fact which became painfully obvious when he pointedly got up, moved over two feet, and sat down again at the far edge of the couch. I thought about questioning him on it, but decided against it. The invitation was obvious.

I flopped down onto the other end of the couch and brought my knees up to my chest, resting my chin on them, thinking. It should have been awkward, sitting like this together. I mean, the two of us usually spent most of our time verbally ripping out each other's throats. But it wasn't...at least, not to me. If Heero truly had been the dick that I'd pegged him for, way back when, he would have pried all the information he'd wanted to know from me using any way he'd known how.

And if he was anything like me, he knew a scary amount of ways to do it.

Instead, he'd given me the best thing anyone possibly could right now, and he didn't even realize it. It still wasn't going to change the fact that, come morning, I was outta here. But right now, I was safe.

I was afraid in my own head. At least I didn't have to be afraid in his.

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**A/N**: Thanks for reading. ^^ Next chapter is written and with my beta reader. Please note that because of this chapter, the rating has now changed to 'M'.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note:** Wow, words cannot express just how sorry I am for just up and vanishing. I've been dealing with what seems to be never-ending extended family drama involving lawyers, social workers, and stupid bureaucracy BS, not to mention a work schedule so hectic I sometimes don't see my house for a week at a time. (And unfortunately, I'm not exaggerating)

For those of you still hanging on, you can easily refresh yourself to the story by rereading chapters 11 and 12, but if you can't be bothered, here's a quick recap for you:

**The Rules:**

Everyone dreams.

I feel what they feel.

Can't change things

No one can see me in a dream.

No one remembers me being there.

_Duo's little dream-walking problem has slowly been getting harder to deal with ever since he met the other Gundam pilots. Not only is it becoming more difficult to keep a secret so they don't find him a liability, but the rules that govern it seem to be becoming irrelevant. Escaping into space with Heero and Quatre after they were denounced as terrorists by the colonies, Duo and the other pilots have been laying low at a safe house on L3. Duo, frustrated with being cooped up in a safehouse with four other trigger-happy teenagers who can't seem to stand each other, convinces Quatre to escape for an hour or two for an innocent walk. Unfortunately, they are jumped by a local street gang, as well as a dangerous man who seems to know and want something from Duo. Heero comes to their rescue, but not before rendering the mystery man unconscious, dragging Duo along for the ride, literally, as the nightmare is about a violent re-entry into Earth's atmosphere. Duo experiences a red-out (named because the vision turns red as the capillaries in the eyes explode). Just as Duo thinks he's about to die, the nightmare changes and something completely new happens. The mystery man knows Duo is in his head. Before Duo can find out just what the man wants with him, he's pulled out of the nightmare as Quatre and Heero put distance between them, and the people they left bleeding on the sidewalk. _**  
**

_After surviving the interrogation from Heero and Trowa with his dream-walking secret still intact, Duo thinks everything will be okay. That's until he catches sight of himself in the mirror and is shocked to find that all the capillaries in his eyes have actually ruptured - that something that happened to him in a dream manifested physically on his body. That somehow, this mystery man was able to hurt him. If that wasn't enough, when Duo falls asleep that night, he's pulled into a very private, very erotic dream of Quatre's involving Trowa. Duo resigns himself to spending the night on the couch and instead finds himself face-to-face with a very suspicious, unhappy Heero, who's not satisfied with the answers Duo gave and is wanting more. Duo manages to delay revealing his secret once again by promising Heero that if he asked again, Duo would tell him the whole truth.  
_

_To Duo's amazement, Heero respects his request for privacy, and they both fall asleep on the couch.  
_

**Warning**: This chapter has not been beta'd, so all mistakes are my own. My poor beta's life is as hectic as mine._  
_

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**Chapter 13**_  
_

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**07:02**

The asshole did it again.

That was the first thought that floated through my head as I drifted back into consciousness. Okay, so maybe I was being a _teeny_ bit of an ass myself by calling him that, considering a small part of me had been banking on the fact that he wouldn't dream and give my own head a few hours of peace and quiet. Perhaps it was about time for me to toss out the blasted 'dreaming rule book' altogether, 'cause it seemed like I was the only idiot following it. In the last twelve hours alone, I'd been stuck inside the head of a person who shouldn't have been able to see me (but did); one who shouldn't have been able to hurt me (but did); and Heero.

Who should dream. (But didn't)

It was infuriating! How the hell did he manage to do it? As ludicrous as it sounded, I was almost tempted to believe he never slept at all – merely went into stand-by mode like a computer or something, except I _had_ seen him dream. He _was_ capable. He just...didn't. Like there was a damn choice involved.

And so, although I was extremely grateful for the fact that I woke up that morning without further evidence of bodily harm, he was still an ass.

My second thought wasn't so much of a coherent thought as it was a painful string of profanities as I attempted to move.

Damn, was I stiff! I'd been expecting the usual aches – I had been in fight after all – but the discomfort was only worsened by the fact that, last night, I'd curled up into a small ball as possible before I'd dozed off, wrapping my arms around my knees both for warmth and to prevent myself from accidentally breaching the invisible line onto Heero's side of the couch. Heero may not be able to hurt me while he was sleeping, but he was perfectly capable of doing it while he was awake. A mere millimeter across that line and I was confident I'd be witnessing that first hand.

Oddly enough, being cold was the one thing I couldn't complain about, even though when I'd fallen asleep I'd only been wearing only my boxers and a thin t-shirt.

And that was about the time I clued into the smell wafting under my nose, and I finally opened my eyes.

Heero's jacket was covering me. It smelt like an acrid blend of aviation fuel fuel and engine oil, with a faint trace of campfire smoke lingering on the side. I buried my face in it, feeling slightly idiotic as a grin tugged at the corner of my mouth. He smelt like Deathscythe. 'Course, to him he probably would have associated the smells with Wing, but that was his problem.

I stretched lazily, thoroughly working the kinks out before standing. The knuckles on my right hand throbbed as I opened and closed my fist, eliciting a satisfied grin on my part. If I'd hit anyone hard enough for _me_ to feel it the next day, I could only imagine how they were feeling. It completely made up for the fact that my jaw was making a disconcerting popping sound every time I opened my mouth. By some small miracle I still had all my teeth; my former life on the streets, the glaring lack of hygiene, meant I'd forever be more susceptible to losing them.

I folded Heero's jacket neatly and left it hanging over the arm of the couch before padding into the kitchen. Apparently the smell of smoke I'd detected wasn't limited to Heero's jacket; I could smell food beginning to burn on the camping grill, but Trowa and Heero were too preoccupied by something on the kitchen table to notice the tendrils of smoke beginning to rise. Probably a good thing we didn't have a smoke detector – I could only imagine how the so-called perfect soldier would silence it, and I'd bet it wouldn't be by removing the batteries.

Trowa was lounging precariously on a rickety kitchen chair, clad in little more than boxers and a t-shirt like myself. His socked feet stuck almost comically out the far side of the small table, making his long legs look even lankier than usual. Heero was standing behind him, somehow already dressed, bracing himself on the back of Trowa's chair to peer over his shoulder. Or maybe he was just lining himself up to catch Trowa when the chair finally collapsed, who knows. Heero's laptop was broadcasting some breaking news announcement from the middle of the table, but I couldn't see who was talking as Trowa's fabulous case of bedhead was blocking my view; even so, it only took a millisecond for me to place the voice.

"Why the hell is the psycho-bat-lady more important than breakfast?" I groused, making my way over to the smouldering grill and gingerly picking up the toast by the crust to flip it over before it had the chance to burn my fingers.

"Yes," Heero replied.

"Huh?" I swung around to scowl at him, and as a result, I did burn my fingers. I shoved them hastily in my mouth to cool off, wrinkling my nose in disgust as they now tasted like aviation fuel courtesy of Heero's jacket. But Heero hadn't been talking to me, instead I saw him pointing at something that only he and Trowa could see.

And it didn't appear to be on the laptop.

"Geez, am I just talking to myself here?" I grumbled, buttering another piece of bread and tossing it onto the grill.

"Yes," Heero said again.

If I'd had anything more than a sneaking suspicion that he was actually answering me this time, things might of gotten ugly. But then I remembered the rare display of clemency he'd displayed last night when I'd been unwilling to answer his questions, so I settled for muttering, "Well, I'm glad we got that straightened out."

"Right. No, like you had it before," Heero spoke again helpfully.

"This?" Trowa's voice was slightly muffled, as if he had something in his mouth.

"Yes. Shorten that."

I wanted to sneak a peek at what captivated their attention if not the news, but although I'd rescued the toast while it was still edible, the eggs were an entirely different story. "No, s'okay, don't worry about me," I grumbled, glaring murderously at the eggs, which looked suspiciously as if they were conspiring to spontaneously combust at any second. "It's a hard job, this rescuing business, but someone's got to do it."

"What's that, Duo?" Trowa answered absently.

Well, at least someone knew I was here. I was beginning to worry for a second. How was it that two guys, who could be armed, dressed and awake in five seconds flat if a mouse farted next door, could be so totally oblivious to the fact that I was single-handedly saving the kitchen from burning down around them?

"Psycho-bat-lady," I sighed dramatically, pointing at the computer even though neither of them were looking at me. "Isn't it bad enough she's trying to take over the world, without ruining breakfast?"

That made both of them pause, proof that not only had they finally acknowledged my presence, but were actually listening to the sounds coming out of my mouth. Trowa twisted around in his seat to give me a quizzical look, looking more than slightly ridiculous with an eraser sticking out of the corner of his mouth. Heero caught on more quickly, glanced at the laptop, snorted disdainfully at the image, and snagged the pencil out Trowa's hand.

"He's referring to Une," Heero clarified wryly, reaching over Trowa's shoulder and scribbling on something with the pencil.

Yep, I was right. Definitely not the laptop that held their attention. I tried to sneak a peek at what it was they were working on, but whether it was intentional or not, they were completely blocking the view.

"Duh. How many other psycho-ladies do you know?" I shot back, a beat late. Neither of them seemed to notice. I rolled my eyes, hunting through the cupboards and drawers for a fork. I paused, turning around slowly, and shot Heero an evil grin. "Yeah, I guess you would me to be more specific, wouldn't you?"

Heero glanced warily over his shoulder, hearing my abrupt change in tone. I quirked an eyebrow at him suggestively, and I swear I saw the corner of his mouth twitch in humor before he looked away. Apparently he hadn't been completely oblivious to the attention he'd garnered from the Girl-in-the-Blue-Dress, not to mention the hoards of girls swooning over him at all the boarding schools we stayed at in the past few months.

I finally cornered a plastic fork leftover from someone's dinner last night skulking under a rag that somebody had obviously used to scrub oil off their boots. I eyed the fork dubiously before wiping it off on the edge of my shirt and using it to chip away ineffectively at the eggs, which by this point resembled misshapen lumps of coal. I wrinkled my nose at the smell, and finally gave in and held my breath all together. I hated eggs with a passion. It was bad enough that they always seemed to congeal and go cold and rubbery by the time I ever did deign to eat them, but even the smell alone was enough to remind me of every dumpster I'd ever scrounged though for a meal.

Why anybody ever had the brainwave to eat the thing that shot out the chicken's ass was completely beyond me.

With breakfast salvaged to the best of my ability, it was time to put my plan into action. It was a good plan. Even had a name - Operation: Getmethehellouttahere - which was fitting because that was about as much of a strategy as I'd managed to come up with so far.

It'd be easier for all involved if I ran. Hell, it wasn't like I had to explain myself to the others - it's not like we were some close-knit team. We all worked together only when we had to, or were ordered to. But if I suddenly just announced that I was leaving, well, that would invite all kinds of questions that I refused to answer. I was starting to endangering the others with my little 'problem' and there was no sense in getting us all killed because of it - not with what we were fighting for being so damn important. I'd been dealing with it for my entire life with only mild consequences, I just had to figure out why the rules were suddenly changing and I'd learn to cope again. But I couldn't do that while under the constant worry of someone finding out, or at the risk of getting someone killed, like what nearly happened to Quatre last night.

I hazarded another glance over my shoulder to ensure Heero and Trowa still had their backs to me. Satisfied that they were occupied, I nudged open one of the packs of the floor with my foot, searching for the pack contained the military rations while the hand wielding the fork continued to happily mutilate the eggs to keep up the pretense of salvaging breakfast. Hell, at this point it wasn't like I could make it any worse.

As a mutual, unspoken rule, everything deemed an essential item always remained packed, and although I was still fully intending on leaving today, I wasn't about to help myself to an entire bag of supplies. I was _planning_ on leaving; the others might not have that luxury. Well, that, and although I was proficient in a multitude of sleight-of hand tricks, not even I was capable of making an entire backpack discretely disappear down the front of my boxers.

As the first pack only contained bottles of water and purification tables, I nudged it carefully aside with my foot and began searching through the second bag, which was where I found my prize.

If ration bars, with the taste, texture, and digestibility of galvanized steel could be called that.

I bent down and snagged a couple, turning around as I tucked them into the elastic of my boxers at the nape of my back. Unfortunately, Heero chose that particular moment to glance over at me. His eyes followed as my hands dropped away from my waist guiltily, until his gaze drifted down to the open packs on the floor.

And my eyes narrowed as he tried to casually slip a tiny wad of paper up his sleeve. Neither of us said anything. I raised my eyebrows suggestively, a smirk tugging on the corners of my mouth, daring him to say something. Instead, his mouth hardened in a firm line, and the brief standoff ended in an uneventful draw.

Trowa extricated himself from under the table and stood up. There was nothing on the table where he'd been sitting except Une still blathering away on the laptop, which somewhat solved the mystery of 'what' disappeared up Heero's sleeve, but not the 'why' he'd felt the need to conceal it from me. Trowa's eyes flickered back and forth between us curiously, at Heero's carefully neutral expression, and my slightly triumphant one, before quirking an eyebrow. But, in true Trowa fashion, instead of saying anything, he simply stepped forward and eased the fork out of my grasp.

"The eggs were supposed to be scrambled, Duo, not powdered," he commented drolly, spearing a piece of toast with the fork and casually flicking it Heero's way.

"Pretty sure they weren't supposed to be black either," I chuckled, snagging a piece of toast of my own before it could be topped with the charred, flaky stuff that used to be eggs.

I loved this guy. He was so laid-back and actually possessed a sense of humor. I could totally see why Quatre –

- Oh, god, so _not_ going there.

Heero was absently holding onto his piece of toast like he wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do with it. His eyes studied my face intently, before suddenly looking very perplexed as my face turned a luminescent shade of red. The color, I'm sure, would have put Quatre's blushing capabilities to shame.

I stuffed the entire piece of toast into my mouth to avoid answering any awkward questions, and made for a hasty escape from the kitchen. I didn't get far as I collided heavily with Wufei as we both tried to go through the same door at the same time. The force of the impact knocked the wind out of me, spraying him with crumbs. He glared murderously at me, a decent attempt, although a complete waste of time since Heero was the irrefutable master of that particular expression, but the moment his eyes connected with mine, the glare lost all intensity as his mouth fell open.

Damn.

I'd forgotten he hadn't seen my eyes. _I'd_ forgotten about the state of my eyes. This had the potential to be very inconvenient if they didn't heal soon. A guy with an ass-long braid and demon-eyes would probably stand out in a crowd.

I gave Wufei a lopsided grin (the only kind I could manage with the piece of toast still wedged in my cheek like a overgrown chipmunk), mockingly dusted the crumbs off his shirt with an exaggerated gesture, and swiftly ducked under his arm before he could compose himself and amputate my hand.

Unfortunately, in this tiny house, fleeing the kitchen meant one thing.

Facing Quatre.

Best case scenario? He'd completely forgotten my little problem and was totally unaware that I'd seen his dream last night... and didn't find it remotely odd that I spent the night sleeping elsewhere.

Right. This was _Quatre_ I was talking about. 'Forgetful' and 'unaware' were the absolute last words I'd pick to describe him.

As I crept up the stairs, I toyed around with the idea of hiding out in the bathroom first and having another shower so I could plan what to say and how to say it, but finally decided against it. Again, this was Quatre, my friend, not a freaking speech for a presidential election. Even so, it may not have been fear I was feeling when I opened the door, but there certainly was a great deal of trepidation present.

I stuck my head in slowly, preparing to slam the door and escape if he was still sleeping. The last thing I needed was to pass out in here. Heero may have been indulging me for the present by not pushing for answers, but if I passed out in the middle of a bedroom in a freaking _safehouse_ of all places, I doubt he'd last much longer.

But Quatre wasn't there.

Odd. There weren't that many places a person could hide out in this house. Had he left? No, that wasn't like him either and his bag was still on the floor. Maybe he was having a shower.

Wow. An unexpected bright side to my day. Maybe I could get out of this place without seeing anybody. It was a situation I hadn't planned for; I'd thought at the very least I'd have to convince Quatre of my reasons for leaving.

I opened the door wide enough to slip in, and closed it quietly behind me. My duffel was on the floor; like the ones in the kitchen, it also always remained packed with everything I owned except the clothes from the night before, which I'd set out to dry. I pulled the ration bars out from under my shirt and sent them on the floor, before rummaging in my bag for something suitable to wear.

I dressed quickly in street clothes before repacking the few belongings that had fallen out of my bag, taking care to stuff the clothes I used for combat on top for easy access. I looped my holster through my belt and secured it around my waist, concealed under my shirt, and buckled on my knife sheathes around my ankles under my jeans. After making sure my bag was securely fastened, I jimmied open the window, flinching as it jammed, then slid open with a loud crash.

I swore fluently under my breath, but again, things seemed to be going my way, and I couldn't hear any footsteps coming to investigate. I grabbed my duffel by the end of the strap and shoved it out the window, before awkwardly wedging my head and shoulders through the narrow opening after it. Even standing on my toes, the metal window frame dug into my arms painfully as I swung the pack back and forth, trying to build enough momentum to swing the my bag past the fascia and up onto the roof where it would be safe until I had the chance to make my escape and retrieve it. A grunt slipped out - even standing on my toes, I was still too damn short, and my elbow was slowly trying to bend itself backwards trying to gain the leverage I needed. Finally, I fished around awkwardly with a foot, and boosted myself up further by stepping on the frame of my cot, clinging to the sill with one arm. I gritted my teeth against the pain in my arm, but it worked in gaining me another couple of inches in height. I'd was getting ready to let go when –

"So, what... you're leaving?"

I jumped guiltily and banged my head on the side of the window frame, lost my toe hold on the cot and fell clumsily to the ground, only just remembering to keep a firm hold on my bag to keep it from tumbling into the alley below. It snapped backwards with a jerk and wedged in the window, twisting my arm around painfully.

Quatre peered down from the bed, his weight braced on an elbow. I gave the strap a firm yank, and caught my bag as it tumbled heavily into my lap. I shoved it aside and dusted myself off sheepishly.

"Oh... hi, Quatre," I grinned at him guiltily. With the way his mattress sagged lazily in the middle, and the fact he'd buried himself under his blankets, it was understandable that I'd missed him. And unthinkable. Perhaps the fact that I was leaving would be beneficial on several fronts. I was getting sloppy – not picking up that we were being followed last night, not sensing Heero on the couch – now this.

My survival instincts had themselves a minor temper tantrum for missing him. My pride wondered how long he'd been watching.

"You are leaving."

It wasn't a question this time. His face was oddly unemotional, as if he'd carefully secluded a part of himself from me. But his eyes were unusually bright, too bright to feign impassiveness, almost accusing as he stared at me. And I couldn't help but think, however stupidly, of all the things he could have learned from Heero, why did it have to be this?

I winced internally at the accusing look, but forced the smile to remain on my face.

Who was I trying to fool anyway?

"Yeah, well, we knew this wouldn't last, Quat. Can't stay in this hide –"

"Duo."

I fell silent, closing my eyes as if that would protect me from hearing the resignation in his voice. The problem about caring about someone else was just that: you cared. My smile faded. "Quat, I can't do this anymore," I whispered, shaking my head.

"Can't do what?" he asked, sounding suddenly worried. He quickly boosted himself up in the bed until he was reclined against the wall. "What happen – oh..." his voice fell flat, and suddenly he was the one refusing to meet my face. "You _did_ see."

That also wasn't a question, but I answered him anyway. "Yeah. I saw."

"You... know," he whispered, the words catching painfully in his throat.

I shook my head. "I didn't. Not for sure. Not until now."

We stared at each other awkwardly for several long moments. And then his eyes slowly closed in quiet resignation; his shoulders caved in a gesture of defeat. I almost wished he'd started crying – at least I could offer him my sleeve to blow his nose on or something. But even Quatre, as gentle and demonstrative as he was, didn't waste tears on something like this, and so I was left standing there staring at him stupidly.

"No, Quat, no," I breathed, finally stumbling forward. I winced as he shied away from me, and froze, unsure of what to say, what to do. How could I apologize about something I couldn't control that had happened because of something he couldn't control? It was absurd, really. Weren't things complicated enough right now with the war, and colonies without adding this into the mix?

"It's not right, Duo," he spoke up suddenly, his voice strong and clear, even though his face was hidden by trembling hands.

"I know it's not," I replied softly, gingerly taking a step forward and gauging his reaction. Was he really that mad that I witnessed his dream? Even though he knew I couldn't control it? "I'm sorry, Quat. I really am."

"Sorry?" he echoed hollowly, looking up at me in sudden confusion. "Why are you sorry? How can you be _sorry_ for this?"

"I'm sorry because I feel like I took something from you, something I can never give back," I answered sadly. I'd been forced to live through more erotic dreams then I'd care to admit, but never before had I felt so guilty for violating the sanctity of someone's mind. And why, of all people, did it have to be Quatre?

There was a _very_ long pause.

"What are you talking about?" he sighed finally.

I hesitated, wondering whether to just spit out exactly what I had been trying avoid saying outright and bring an end to this miserable conversation. It probably would have been easier. Instead, I found myself falling back on my evasive instincts and warily asking, "That depends. What are you?"

"You saw my... dream," he began tentatively, peering out from behind his bangs, which had fallen to shield his face.

That would be the understatement of the year. Saw, heard, felt, pitched a tent in my boxers – yeah, I'd rather go with his wording too.

"Yes," I admitted reluctantly.

"You don't think it's... wrong?"

Wrong how? Wrong that I saw, or that the content was wrong? For a normally articulate guy, he really wasn't giving me much to go here, but at least he still didn't look mad. Yet.

I shrugged, trying to appear more nonchalant than I actually was. This was a prime example of why I didn't make it a habit of telling people about my problem – because it resulted in awkward conversations like these. "Dreams are dreams, Quat. You can't control them. Maybe there's an element of truth to them, but not always."

It hadn't been intentional, but I gave him an escape route. Unlike me, he didn't take it.

"And if there is?" he met my eyes suddenly, appearing to brace himself for my answer.

I thought about that for several moments, sitting down on the edge of the bed with a sigh. It didn't sound like his problem was with me being in his dreams like I'd originally thought. It was the content that bothered him, but I still didn't understand what he wanted to hear from me. If he was questioning his sexuality, it wasn't my place to influence him either way. I couldn't pretend to understand any uncertainties; I'd known that I was gay for as long as I could remember, and it really wasn't anything I'd ever stressed over, even if I didn't exactly go around advertising it to the world for all to hear. If that was his problem, he had to figure out his own answers. But if he was only asking if I was okay with it... if it wouldn't change anything between us...

I couldn't deny him that. But would he believe me?

Maybe. I never lied after all. But he also knew better than anybody at how good I was at dancing around the truth. He would always doubt; playback the wording, the pauses, anything I'd accidentally omitted.

Then I had an idea. I loved when my brain started to function.

"Quatre... can you feel me now?" I asked curiously.

He looked up at me in surprise, and slowly shook his head. I frowned, annoyed that that plan had been shot down so easily and searched around, trying to organize my thoughts into something resembling coherence, even though I wasn't sure if what I was trying to say could be accurately put into words. But then his hand suddenly materialized in my peripheral vision, and I glanced up at him. His hand hesitated a few inches away, but it was steady, asking for permission rather than out of apprehension.

I grinned at him, and for the first time I saw a glimmer of hope in his face. His hand bridged the final few inches and came to rest softly on my chest.

I closed my eyes, still with a wide smile on my face and concentrated on what I'd observed the previous evening. Not of his dream, where my emotions had been strongly influenced by his, but of what I'd felt, what I'd witnessed in the kitchen when Trowa had been stitching up his eye. I recalled the warmth, and the gentleness surrounding them, and slowly allowed my own feelings to trickle in – the hope it had instilled in me, the subtle pride... that although we were soldiers - killers really, we were still capable of moments like these.

I heard his breath hitch, breaking my concentration. It didn't matter, the sound alone was proof that he'd managed to pick up something I was trying to project at him. I peered over at him to see his eyes had also slid shut, his mouth fallen open in a small, reverent smile.

"Tell me, Quatre," I challenged him, feeling more than slightly triumphant that my little experiment had worked so well. "How could anyone think _that_ was wrong?"

"Thank you," he smiled warmly at me, sounding slightly breathless. His hand dropped away onto the blanket.

I shrugged, scratching the back of my head. "Don't thank me. We're friends, right?" I leaned back to throw an arm awkwardly around him in a hug, wincing slightly as my shoulder blade ground into the wall. "Besides, it'd make me slightly hypocritical," I added as an afterthought.

"You..." he trailed off, looking unsure if he should complete the thought.

"What, am a shirtlifter? A ring raider? Bat for the same team?" I finished innocently, reciting a few of the more tamer expressions I'd heard over the years.

He still turned pink, but seemed to be unaware of it as he studied me with analytical eyes. "Why didn't you just come out and say so?"

I paused, but no obvious answer came to me right away. I shook my head slightly, giving him a small shrug.

He smiled at me, but there was an echo of sadness in his eyes that I didn't like. "Are you just that accustomed to evading questions? Even with me?"

I frowned, shivering slightly, not liking how his tone appeared to suddenly sound sorry for me. "No, I just... I... I thought you of all people would've been able to guess that by now."

"I did wonder," he confessed earnestly, picking up my shiver and evidently mistaking it for a chill as he pulled back his blanket and scooted over so I could scramble underneath the covers beside him. "But it's not really something you just come out and ask someone. Besides, sometimes things get... a little jumbled in here."

I smiled ruefully as he made a vague motion to his chest. I was pretty sure that comment was in the running for understatement of the year. I looped my fingers together and folded my hands behind my head, reclining against the wall. "I can only imagine. How do you do it, Quat?"

"Do what?"

"When I'm stuck inside a dream... I feel _everything_. Everything they are. I can't control it," I confessed reluctantly, before realizing what I'd just admitted to in regards to his dream last night and hurriedly adding, "When I was in...Blue-Eyes' head –" I broke off, my face twisting in disgust. Why did I have to mention _that_ now? Oh, right. Figures. Bring up a topic I don't want to discuss to hide the fact that I'd already managed to bring up a topic I didn't want to discuss. Brilliant plan. It was bad enough that Quatre knew I saw his dream, without knowing I'd manage to 'feel' the blasted thing too.

Fortunately, at the mention of Blue-Eyes, Quatre's eyes narrowed minutely, taking on the all-too-familiar triumphant glint. He obviously been waiting for a chance to broach the subject; now I'd just gone and made it that much easier. I didn't know whether to be pleased about that or not.

"What?" Seeing my frustrated look, he shook his head, a bemused smile twitching the corner of his lips. "You brought it up, Duo. Don't chicken out on me now. What exactly happened to you in there?"

"He... was different," I fumbled for the words. "I've told you the rules, Quat. Can't move, can't change things - same old shit. And it _was_ like that at first. But then, I _could_ move. He saw me! He spoke to me. An'...I think _he_ hurt me."

Quatre looped a finger under my chin and forced me to look at him, even as he gently brushed a stray lock of hair away from my eyes.

"He did this to you?" he asked bluntly, studying the damage to my eyes intently. "How?"

"You tell me how any of this is possible," I replied, laughing but not really joking. "I don't know how he did it."

"You didn't feel it happening?" he mused thoughtfully.

"No. I don't know. Maybe?" I shrugged, unsure of the answer myself. "Immediately after Heero... knocked him out, he started dreaming of a red-out. I'm sure that when it happened. I don't believe in coincidences."

Quatre grimaced, pausing in his clinical assessment long enough to shoot me a sympathetic smile. He knew just as well as the next pilot how dangerous a red-out was. Hell, I should be grateful that the damage was limited to my eyes; that I hadn't stroked out, or, y'know, died.

I fought back the urge to shudder. No need to dump that happy thought on Quatre.

"Maybe I did feel it," I mused, talking more for myself now than for him. "But I feel _everything _when I'm in there. He was so scared, Quat! I've never felt fear that overpowering in my life. I couldn't move, couldn't think... couldn't tell if I was scared too. I could not differentiate between us. How do you deal with that all the time?"

"It's not all the time," he corrected me gently. "I couldn't feel you just now, could I?"

"Semantics." I waved irritably. "A lot of the time then, or more than me, take your pick. How do you do it?"

He opened his mouth to speak before letting out a sigh of frustration, waving a hand. "I guess...you have to make yourself hard to it," he finally offered in explanation, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

"You don't really fit the definition of an apathetic person, Quat," I chuckled, despite everything.

"No, I know I don't," he conceded wryly, smiling. "I'm not saying that you should be apathetic. Or heartless."

"Then what?" I pressed, fidgeting as the hilt of one of my knives began digging painfully into the side of my ankle.

"I guess... what I do, is just remind myself what I was feeling," he replied slowly, struggling to put such an abstract concept into words. "Sometimes it's easy. I mean, take Wufei –"

"Wufei?" I interrupted with a laugh.

Quatre eyed me warily, and my laughter died instantly. "Don't go repeating this, Duo."

"My lips are sealed." I mimed twisting a key in a lock and throwing it away, but there was no humor on my part. "You know I'm the last person to go around blabbing secrets. You can trust me."

"I know. It's just...it's bad enough...I feel –"

"Like you're violating his privacy? His mind?" I supplied grimly, once again reminded to how I'd felt last night being forced to bear witness to Quatre's dream. "Yeah, trust me, I get it."

Quatre smiled sadly. "Yeah, I guess you do. When he – Wufei – comes into the room... I –" he paused again, a peculiar look twisting his face as his hand automatically ghosted up to clutch at the front of his t-shirt. He took a slow, steadying breath; only when his fingers relaxed did he finish. "He can literally take my breath away, Duo. There's so much grief inside him, anger...and pride too."

"I wouldn't tell anyone else he 'takes your breath away'," I smirked, trying to lighten the mood and earning myself a playful slap over the head for my efforts. I couldn't avoid the blow, he was too quick, but I did detect the devilish glint that flashed across his eyes.

"Okay, Duo. You want an explanation? Well, my ratiocination is thus," he began pretentiously," assuming that I'm sagacious enough to discern such circumstances which precipitate – "

"Okay, okay," I groaned, holding up my hands in mock surrender. "I yield, I cave, I deserved that, whatever, just please quit talking like that or my head _will_ explode."

"So, what I was saying was," he growled good-naturedly, "if that if I realize what's happening – and with Wufei it's obvious, like being kicked in the chest – I can compartmentalize it. Just keep reminding myself of how I was feeling before he was around, make a conscious effort to keep my emotions separate from his, and don't allow myself to act out on what he's projecting."

He made it sound like it was second-nature for him to do all this until he added darkly, "Thankfully, he doesn't come out of his room much."

"I'd skip breakfast if that's the case," I murmured absently, thinking. "What if you don't realize what's happening?"

He gave me a bemused look. "You do realize what you just said makes –"

"Yeah, yeah." I rubbed the back of my neck sheepishly. "Ignore that. Do you think that'd work for me too?"

"Can it hurt to try?" he countered swiftly.

I looked at him pointedly, making sure he saw my eyes in all their bloody glory. Had he conveniently forgotten I was sporting the 'possessed' look this morning?

"Obviously."

He nodded in understanding. "Sorry. I suppose your right. But that's only happened once, right?"

"That my eyeballs exploded?" I clarified with a straight face.

Quatre rolled his eyes. "Hardly. That you've sustained injuries?"

"Ones not caused by myself, yes," I murmured in confirmation. When his eyes flickered unwillingly to my neck, honing in on the place where one faint scar lingered from the time I'd tried to claw out my own throat, I knew he'd clued into what I was referring to. He was a very astute guy. That injury had happened months ago, and he'd only known about my little 'talent' for a couple of days at that point.

Realizing he was staring, he looked away quickly, abashed, and tried to cover it up with a shrug. "I guess you need to ask yourself whether it's worth it then. Is the potential for injury worth it, if you can find a solution to prevent it happening again?"

"Why do you always have to be so damn rational?" I groused, flopping back against the wall with an exasperated sigh.

He chuckled, throwing back the covers and springing lightly over top of me. "Well, someone has to be around here."

I grunted in reply as I mulled over his previous argument. "So how do you suggest I do this?"

He shrugged, digging through his bag for a minute before emerging victoriously with a pair of jeans. "You could experiment with me," he offered casually, as he slipped them on.

"So not happening," I replied instantly. The last thing I needed was to get stuck in another situation like last night. Seeing the his face redden and the hurt expression flicker across it, I hurriedly added, "Quat, it's not just... about last night, though god only knows I feel bad enough about invading _your_ privacy like that. It's just... your mind is too much. You feel _everything_."

Crisis averted. I was relieved as I won an honest laugh from him as I exaggeratedly drew out the last word. Another part of me was genuinely touched that he'd even volunteer after what had happened last night.

"One of the others, then?"

I sighed, rubbing my nose. "Okay, that could potentially be a Very Bad Idea, on so many levels. You said it yourself, Wufei is a big ball of hurt – "

"Not quite how I phrased it," he interjected dryly.

"Yeah, well, could you imagine the kind of things he dreams about?" I snorted, pointing at myself. "Me? So not wanting to get stuck in that. And then there's the obvious reason."

"Which is?"

"I'm not telling anyone – " I ended abruptly, exchanging a dismayed look with Quatre. By unspoken agreement, the conversation was put on hold as we both simultaneously heard Heero's footsteps approaching. Quatre attacked his backpack with renewed vigor as he attempted to pull a t-shirt out, but somehow everything had managed to get tangled up. He flopped down on the ground grumpily, and upended his bag to repack everything.

"Yeah, come in," I called out as I heard Heero pause outside our door, even before he'd had the chance to knock. "What's up?"

If he was at all puzzled to see me lounging lazily in Quatre's bed, he didn't show it. His eyes surveyed the room automatically, lingering momentarily on Quatre, who was muttering to himself crossly while valiantly trying to stop his shoelaces from strangling each other. Unlike me, he hadn't learned the art of permanently tying them in a big ol' knot, and hacking off the useless bits.

I raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"We're going out," Heero said finally, apparently choosing to address the wall behind me.

I flicked my eyes up to see what was so interesting, and realized the window was still open. I stifled a groan, and instead opted to play dumb, something I could do exceptionally well if the urge struck me.

"Who's 'we' and where's 'out'?" I asked pleasantly.

From the floor came a small, resigned moan. I had the sneaking suspicion wasn't over the homicidal shoelaces. I ignored him for the time being – I'd only said five words to Heero, all which fell into the realm of polite. Quat was over-reacting, as usual.

"Trowa and I are going to check on the Gundams," Heero sighed, finally looking at me.

I bit down sharply before a swear had the chance to slip out. Why the hell did they have to pick today of all freakin' days to go check on the damn Gundams? I wanted to get out of here!

"So, it's okay for you and Trowa to go out into the big bad world, but a shit-storm gets raised when Quatre and I do?" I raised an eyebrow in challenge. "How's that fair?"

"_We_ don't plan on being seen," Heero informed me blandly. "I'm not asking your permission, Duo."

"Don't worry, I wasn't holding my breath," I muttered irritably. Either Heero was very good at feigning deafness, or that time, he'd honestly not heard me. Quatre did, judging by the sudden enthusiasm with which he resumed packing, but as I was blocking the window and Heero the door, there was no escape for him this time. "What did you want then?"

"To see if either of you needed anything."

I barked a laugh. Yeah, what I needed was to get out of here. With him and Trowa nosing around the makeshift hanger all day, it seemed like that wasn't going to be happening anytime soon. "No, Heero. We're _fine_."

It came off sounding harsher than I'd intended. Heero scowled at me, and stalked down the hallway.

"Don't bite his head off because he inadvertently spoiled your plans," Quatre chastised, tossing his bag at me.

"Um, ouch," I complained, and not because the bag that landed squarely on my middle probably weighed more than he did. "Just tell it to me straight, why don't ya?"

"Well, I'm right, aren't I?" he replied smugly. "Honestly, Duo, it's not going to affect you too much."

"They're going to be at the hanger," I reiterated for him slowly. "I'm not leaving 'Scythe behind."

He snorted wryly. "So... what? Were you planning on just waltzing off the colony in broad daylight in your Gundam? Walk him down the main street maybe?"

"No, but – "

"So, you need to make some preparations first?" he continued innocently.

"Yes, but – oh," I finished dumbly.

"I rest my case," he concluded dryly, holding out a hand. "Come on, if we start now, we could probably have you out of here by the end of the day."

"Quatre..." I began unhappily, "You don't have to get involved in this. I can handle it on my own."

He smiled at me warmly. "We're friends, right, Duo?"

I stared at his hand for several moments before taking it, allowing him to pull me out of his bed and to my feet.

Yeah, we were friends. Somehow, amidst all the worry for his safety, the shame for invading his privacy – all the bad things, I forgot that good moments came out of having friends. Times like this, when someone else besides myself cared about my safety. My happiness.

And maybe if I'd known what was to come, I wouldn't have been so quick to run away.

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**AN**: I promise there won't be a big delay in posting the next several chapters, as they are already written. For the people that have been asking about Wufei, he will play a much bigger part later on.

Thanks for reading.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN:** Thanks to everyone for being so understanding about my absence. I'm pretty sure I answered everyone's reviews, and can I just say wow, I loved reading some of the theories. Some of you really are close!

As always, any mistakes are my own.

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**Chapter 14  
**

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**15:03**

"You sure they're gone?" I breathed, crawling up the hot tin roof by my elbows and knees beside Quatre. The metal burned everything it touched, leaving me with large welts of red skin – even so, I didn't mind. For a brief moment I was in three places at once – in Quatre's memory of basking in the sun; and months ago, back at the Maganac's base, playing our suicidal version of 'tag'; and in the present. The sensation was disorientating as three scenes overlapped one another, the heat magnified three-fold and all I wanted to do was lay on my back and bask lazily in the sun.

"Yes, Duo," he smiled, snapping me back into the present as he handed me the binoculars. "I saw them leave about an hour ago. I've been watching ever since, just in case they forgot something and doubled back."

I took a peek through the binoculars myself; what I was expecting to see was a complete mystery. Trowa had secured us a good spot on the colony – an old building on the periphery of the warehouse district. The only remaining entrance into the building was a door that could only be accessed by ascending up a bare brick wall to what was left of the south third floor fire escape. A breeze for people like Quatre and myself, not so much for your average person (which was the general point). The massive bay doors, which took up the entire west side of the building, were secured from the inside, and all the other doors and windows had been bricked over years before – probably before any of us were even born.

Meaning? Unless Heero or Trowa walked through the one functional door, I wasn't going to be seeing anything exciting through the binoculars.

I handed them back to him, as well as my pack. "Oh well, might as well get this over with. Bring the truck around, will ya? I'll go open it up for you."

He nodded once, and slipped down back the way we'd come to the truck I'd parked below, while I simply stepped forward off the roof and dropped the thirty feet to the ground, throwing myself forward into a roll to absorb the jarring impact from landing on concrete.

Scaling the wall to the fire escape was harder than it should have been; the callouses I'd developed over the years had softened during the past two months of relative inactivity, and my fingers were quickly rendered raw from my attempts to gain hold in the crevices between bricks. Still, it didn't take me long to scramble up the side of the building and twist myself up under the rusted metal railing of the fire escape. I tapped the code into the keypad and slipped into the building, holding the door ajar so I could keep an eye out for Quatre. As soon as I saw him rounding the corner in the truck, I let the door click shut, and bounded down the stairs to open the main hanger doors; trying to time it so the doors would be left open for a short a time as possible.

He drove in and lithely leaped down from the cab while I jumped on the quick-release chain and used my body weight to haul the doors down manually – that being quicker than the ancient electronic mechanisms. Without even needing to be asked, he monkeyed up a ladder and set to work pulling down the enormous tarps and ratchet straps off the wall that we used to conceal and secure our suits during transport.

"Why are you so okay with this?" I broke the silence first, grabbing the first bundled tarp he slid down the ladder to me, and dropping it on the ground with a grunt.

He paused, appearing to not even notice as a shower of cobwebs, dust, and crawly things with too many legs rained down over his head as he yanked at the second bundle. "With what? You leaving?"

"Yeah."

He stalled in responding, suddenly very preoccupied with vigorously scrubbing the muck out of his hair where it conveniently fell directly into mine. I picked a spider out of my own hair and flicked it away before it could disappear down my shirt, but ignored the dirt.

"I'm not," he replied finally. "Frankly, I think we'd be better fighting as an organized team, but, apparently I'm the only one who believes that."

I was amazed that Quatre managed to say that without sounding the least bit bitter.

"So... if you're not okay with it, why are you helping me?" I asked curiously. A cobweb tickled my nose and I pulled it out of my face irritably before it set me off sneezing.

"I'm your friend, Duo. Not your keeper," he informed me with a grin, hauling down the second bundled tarp and using the ladder as a slide to drop it to me the same way as he did with the first.

I dragged it off to the side, wiping sweat away from my eyes. With it already being mid-afternoon, the temperature and humidity in the building was almost stifling. After a moment's deliberation, I striped off my shirt and tossed it aside. "Heero's going to be pissed."

"Heero's not your keeper either." Quatre's voice was muffled, as after seeing me lose my shirt, he'd quickly decided to do the same, only his head had gotten stuck as he forgot to undo his top button.

"You say 'keeper' like we've been living in a zoo or something," I chuckled, catching his shirt as he finally managed to free his head and setting it aside so it wouldn't get any dirtier.

Quatre snorted. "Yes, well, I think monkeys slinging dung at each other is a far more effective way at getting problems out in the open than what we've been doing."

It was several long moments before I could even think about replying as I was laughing so hard that I began to choke on the dust, and ended up supporting myself weakly against the cab of the truck before I fell over entirely. It wasn't long before Quatre started laughing too.

"Seriously, though," I continued, trying to sound somewhat serious myself and failing miserably. "You understand why I need to go?"

Quatre had an easier time composing himself, sobering quickly but hesitating once again before replying. Quatre could never be accused of speaking rashly, unlike me.

"Yes," he answered reluctantly, opening his mouth to say more and instead began chewing on his bottom lip.

"But?"

He didn't elaborate right away. Simply gave a massive heave on the third, final, and heaviest tarp, and quickly ducked as it tumbled over his head, landing on the floor with a bang that reverberated loudly through the building and sent up a huge cloud of dust. I didn't bother to slow its descent – it would've flattened me – and instead looked up at him expectantly, giving him time to think.

"Look," he began slowly, leaning his chin against the top rung of the ladder, "the world doesn't revolve around you, Duo."

"Oh, gee, thanks, never realized that," I scoffed.

Quatre gave me a wry smile. "Sorry, I didn't mean that quite how it sounded. But, Heero... and Trowa, and Wufei – they don't spend every waking moment thinking about you... about what your problem could be. I mean, really, think about what they've actually seen. Wufei – "

"Has seen fuck-all, because we never see Wufei," I interjected sarcastically. "Oh, hang on, I guess he saw my eyes this morning."

"Right, and if you saw Wufei with eyes like yours, what would you assume? That he got sucked into the head of an unconscious man and was tortured by his dreams?"

It wasn't hard to figure out where he was going with this.

"No, probably that he strained too hard on the toilet this morning 'cause he's got that stick wedged..." Quatre gave me 'the look' that he'd spent the better part of the past year perfecting, and I trailed off, wincing. "Sorry, I _know_, 'we don't really know the guy'...but honestly, he's never given us the chance too!"

"He very smart. Likes to read," Quatre replied stubbornly.

"Oh brilliant, well, if I ever get the urge to throw a _book_ at someone, I'll be sure to make him the target!" I retorted sarcastically. "Face it, Wufei is a piss-poor example to choose if you're trying to make a point."

"Okay, Heero then," Quatre relented, seemingly unperturbed by my tone. "Out of all the missions you two have been on in the last few months, what has he seen? Really?"

"I've told you what he's seen," I replied frustratedly.

"So that's it?" Quatre said incredulously. "He saw you rendered unconscious last night, after we got in a street fight? Wow, how could he not know after that?"

"You've been spending too much time around me," I snorted wryly. "You're conveniently forgetting that time during that mission we had, on the ammo base. He _saw_ me in his dream. He punched me in his damn dream!"

"And you also told me that he appears to have no recollection of that!"

"He's suspicious."

"Heero is suspicious of everybody," he countered dryly.

"I'm telling you, Quat, he knows something's up," I replied frustratedly.

How could I explain to him that it was all the little coincidences that made me worry – like the day in the dorm when he'd asked me if I'd ever wondered what it'd be like to fly, after being in his dream where he had been flying.

"And I'm not denying that he's curious," Quatre replied, sounding a little frustrated himself by this point. He leaned over precariously, and hefted one of the large ratchet straps off its hook, staring at it blankly. "Dancing around his questions the way you do isn't helping – and yes, I know why you do that. But you're not what he spends every spare moment thinking about. Even you can't argue the fact that we've all got bigger problems on our minds. And even if he did, it's more likely that he thinks you have some sort of... medical condition, like... I don't know, low blood sugar or something! Not that you're parading around in his dreams waiting to get punched!"

"Look, can we just drop it?" I sighed, wanting to leave this particular topic alone before our conversation escalated into an actual argument.

I realized my poor choice of words as Quatre unthinkingly let go of the belt in his hands, and I darted out of the way of the heavy metal ratchet as it crashed the ground.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"Oops." He peered down at me, wide-eyed and sheepish. "Sorry."

"You know, the last thing I need, Quat, is another blow to the head," I informed him with a crooked grin, carefully slinging the belt over my shoulder, and eying the sizable dent the metal buckle had left in the concrete floor in amusement.

He grinned at me. I set to work loosening the bungee straps from around the first tarp while he carefully lowered the remaining ratchet straps to the ground.

"You know, you could come with me," I offered, raising my voice to be heard of the crinkling of the tarp. "You and me, we make a great team. Why not stick together?"

"Thanks for the offer, but you know that'd be a bad idea," he replied, descending the ladder and coming over to help me unfurl the humongous sheet. "The plan was devised under the premise that just you were leaving. It's too late to scrap it now and come up with an alternative, if you're still intent on leaving today. Besides, someone has to cover for you. Can't have the others thinking you were kidnapped."

"And the fact that Trowa's there doesn't hurt, right?"

Quatre laughed. "Duo, the fact that I had one little dream about him does not mean I'm going to moon over him."

That wasn't what I was implying, but even I had enough sense to not make any snide remarks about his attempts to downplay the whole deal. Quatre needed his dignity and I needed to scour my brain of certain images involving my best friend. I shrugged. "That's not what I was meaning."

He suddenly looked wary. "Then what were you insinuating?"

"Just that... you guys seem to know each other," I said awkwardly. "You get along... kinda like the way you and I do."

"Not exactly," he smiled. "You've always been different, Duo. Even the first time we met, it felt like we'd been friends for years already."

"But you and Trowa are like that too," I replied dubiously.

"Well, I have spent time with him before, and it wasn't always that way."

"Really?" I glanced up at him in confusion. "You never told me that. When?"

"I've mentioned it. Maybe not Trowa by name. We've met a few times, actually," he added offhandedly. "The first time we met was... back near the beginning. Before I met you... before I knew there were more Gundams like mine. We were battling, and as soon as I realized what his suit was; what _he_ had to be, I surrendered."

"That was a dangerous thing to do," I told him flatly. Compassion was a rare thing on the battlefield; even more-so in one-to-one combat. Usually because those that showed it were killed. If Quatre wasn't careful, his luck would run out and that was the last thing I wanted for my friend.

He smiled sadly, as if he could guess at what I was thinking. "I'm not completely naïve. It was a calculated risk, but... you're right, dangerous. The easiest option would have been to keep fighting – didn't mean it would've been the right option. It was better than killing each other."

His words sent a chill down my spine. Quatre was an talented pilot, but I wasn't sure if (back then at least) he would've been able to best Trowa in a suit battle. It was irrelevant now, though, and I forced the disturbing thought from my mind and pressed on. "So, okay, you tried to kill each other when you first met." I stopped suddenly. "Come to think of it, that sounds eerily familiar..." I mused dourly. "Then what?"

"He came back to my house for a couple weeks while his suit was being repaired. It was the least I could offer him," Quatre smiled ruefully.

"And? That's it?" Good grief, only Quatre would feel bad for damaging someone else's suit after being attacked. Even if he did find out they were on the same side.

"Well, not exactly," he replied wryly. "The first few days were..."

"Tense?" I supplied with a grin.

"I was leaning more towards 'precariously volatile' myself. I don't think he slept for the first week, and the Maganacs certainly weren't happy about the situation either. Throw in the fact that everybody's armed as well as sleep-deprived, and that it was just the beginning of the war for all of us..."

I got the picture, as his description pretty much summed up the atmosphere of the last week, though I didn't say that aloud. Instead, I asked him curiously," So, what changed?"

"He played my flute," Quatre answered with a wistful smile.

I ruined the moment when I burst out laughing, and he scowled playfully. "Oh, get your mind out of the gutter, Duo! An _actual_ flute, not whatever perverse thing you're imagining."

"Sorry...it's just – oh, street brat, remember?" I spluttered through laughter. "My mind was born in the gutter; that's its natural habitat!"

Quatre whacked me over the back of the head good-naturedly. "Idiot. I'm regretting I said anything."

"No, no, Quat, look. I'm not laughing, see? Totally serious now." I put on my best serious face, but struggled to keep it there when the corners of his lips began twitching in amusement. "Why is the flute so important?"

"It wasn't the flute," he contradicted me, picking up one of the straps and set to work on untangling it from the heap. "It was just... the first time he'd let his guard down. Where the predominant emotion coming from him was no longer distrust. It – It's hard to explain."

"At least try," I coaxed. When he pulled a face, I added, "Come one, I always try and explain things to you and your head hasn't exploded from all the weirdness. Yet.

He sighed, quickly giving up all pretense of untangling the straps. "It's like... okay, take facial expressions. Everyone has a neutral expression – some people look happier than others, other look angrier... they can't control it, it's just... _them._ It's the same with emotions. Everyone has a neutral state, unique to them. It's the real measure of who they are as a person... what their true disposition is. And when Trowa was playing, I got to feel it, just for a couple minutes."

"What did he feel like?"

I was not going to think about how else that comment could be interpreted. I wasn't.

"Calm... good. I can't even start to describe it," he shrugged, throwing his hands up. "I don't think the words exist to describe it. Emotions are like flavors; you just learn to differentiate between them. It's like trying to describe to someone what different kinds of foods taste like. Sweet, warm, smooth, creamy – they're all words that can describe chocolate, but they're applicable for a multitude of other things too. You can never really capture the true essence of the flavor... the balance of them. The way they intermingle with each other and make 'chocolate'."

"You really have a way with words, Quatre," I told him sincerely. He shot me a look, and, seeing that I was not mocking him, smiled abashedly. "I get what you're saying. I'm surprised I've never noticed before."

"Yes, well, I have more experience than you, I suppose," he offered thoughtfully, immediately catching on to my meaning. "Other people's emotions were something I felt everyday until I learned to block them, or at least all but the strongest emotions. You know _they_ still slip through. Your gift works differently. You only experience it when you're in someone's dreams."

"Look," he said, changing tactics suddenly and sounding rueful. "I'll handle the tarps. We're running out of time here. Go get your Gundam ready."

I wanted to, but I didn't argue, and immediately went to Deathscythe. Quatre'd been the one to make my departure arrangements, I'd been the one to secure the transport to the docks. He knew our schedule better than I did. I snapped open up the panel on 'Scythe's leg and waited impatiently for the zip cord to descend.

"So how long do we have?" I asked curiously as I snagged the cord and reversed the lever, rising up into the air.

"Just under ninety minutes," he yelled back, fighting to be heard over the loud rustling of the tarp that he wrestling to lay flat.

"Isn't that cutting it a little close?" I called down as I absently typed in the code to my hatch.

He took a step back from the sheet, wiping an arm across his brow to catch the sweat before it dripped into his eyes. "I scheduled it that tight on purpose. I guessed you wouldn't want to hang around here any longer than you had to. Besides, the quicker we get you out of here, the less time for the others to do something about it."

I didn't respond, as by that point I had ducked inside the cockpit and sealed it behind me so I could access 'Scythe's computers. I sank back into my seat with a complacent smile as I waited for the computers to load. Being in Deathscythe – the rush induced by the smells of leather and sweat alone was incredible. But as I looked around, my smile slowly morphed into a frown. Something wasn't right. It wasn't wrong either, just...off.

"You sure no one's been in here beside Trowa and Heero?" I asked warily through my mic as soon as I was able to engage it.

He glanced up towards me curiously, wiping at his flushed face again and leaving a black smear on his forehead. "No, of course I don't. But I think they'd have been in more of a rush to get back to the house if they'd thought someone had gained access to the building."

I grunted, something which didn't transmit well through the microphone. I couldn't find a fault in his logic though. If someone had breached the building, they would've noticed during their checks and we'd be in full out evacuate mode by now.

Even though the feeling buzzed away at the back of my neck like an incessant itch, I couldn't afford to dwell on it while the two of us set about loading Deathscythe on the truck; one wrong move and I'd crush Quatre who was acting as my spotter as I maneuvered into place, or flip the the whole damn truck if I didn't balance the weight perfectly over the flat deck. It wasn't difficult work – the two of made a good pair and we'd both loaded suits enough times to know how to do it efficiently – but it still needed my full concentration to hear him shout up the corrections over the engines and groans of metal-on-metal that only amplified as they echoed of the aluminum walls of the warehouse.

I didn't relax until Deathscythe was completely horizontal. Quatre wasn't wasting any time, and had already scrambled up on to 'Scythe's legs with a long rope pulled taut to winch the first tarp into place. The cockpit blacked-out as I powered down and that was probably the only reason I spotted the white paper above my head as my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, wedged into one of the grab-handles.

I pulled it out carefully. As I unfolded the note, something tumbled out, bounced off my knee and fell to the floor, but what stared up at me from the unfurled piece of paper made me choke.

Blue-eyes.

As if I could forget that face. It was a fairly accurate likeness of him; especially as I it didn't take me long to deduce that Trowa had been the one to draw it, this morning at the table and he'd never even seen the guy. But why?

I flipped over the paper to see if there was an explanation. There wasn't; that'd be hoping for too much apparently. Instead, I found a bunch of funny squiggles. Whereas Trowa's drawing had been composed of light, fluid lines, these squiggles were made by someone who apparently wanted to kill the pencil. It was a simple sketch; two lines spaced about three inches apart running almost perfectly parallel, with three bumps at the end joining them. It took me a second to decipher the tiny letters penned beneath in Heero's narrow hand, as he'd pressed so hard that the graphite had smudged.

"Wrist," I chuckled when I finally managed to work it out. It was a close up view of the mark Heero had seen on the guy's wrist.

I set the paper aside, and fished around on the floor for the object that had fallen out of the note - I finally found it lodged under one of my foot pedals, and eased it out gently.

My mouth fell open.

**18:45 (Day 1)**

My choice of shuttles had been...well, I guess 'limited' would be the polite way to put it. Especially with my particular piece of cargo. Quatre was kind enough to remind me that I wouldn't have gotten out of the docking port if I'd stolen the military shuttle I had been eying up. Said they tended to frown on that kind of thing for some reason. He was teasing me, I know, but part of me still felt like I'd gone to pick out a super-car with crazy-amounts of horsepower, torque and NOS-equipped, and instead got the motorized scooter.

Translation? We ended up choosing a short haul cargo shuttle that was used to ferry freight between colonies in the same cluster. No real long-range capabilities what-so-ever, which made it a particularly dicey decision to leave the colony without having all the necessary arrangements made for my pick-up. It was the reason Quatre hadn't wanted to come with me. Alone, I could live for a week in it, give or take a few of days either way depending on how well I rationed the fuel and on-board amenities.

A week was not long in outer-space.

Amenities. Hah. When did I start thinking of life support as an amenity? Shows how screwed up my head was at the time.

Quatre made one, final, half-hearted attempt to convince me to stay just as we pulled into the cargo docks. Guessing what he needed, I sat quietly and tried to listen, so at least I could leave him feeling like he'd said and done everything he possibly could short of knocking me over the head and tying me up. After he was done I made sure I constantly reassured him that Howard would come through for me.

It was two hours since then, and now I wasn't so positive of that myself. I had tried contact him several times over the past couple of hours with no luck – and my window of opportunity was running out. Pretty soon I'd be out of range of the L3 cluster satellites and therefore real-time communication. I'd be faced with making a decision that I really didn't want to make; go back to the colony I'd just left (and face the wrath of Heero) risk docking on another colony in the same cluster (and face the wrath of customs) or keep going, with no guarantee that I'd be picked up (and die).

"Brilliant plan, Duo," I muttered to myself, moodily punching the keyboard to hail Howard for the billionth time. "Was it really necessary to leave that quickly? Answer some awkward questions, or run out of oxygen and die?"

That wasn't the real reason, of course. The 'answering of personal questions' hovered down near the bottom of my very long list of reasons to run; the nightly forays into Quatre's mind being another. Both fell far under 'Blue-eyes.' I knew he was after me, and I wanted to keep it that way. Better me than Quatre... or, well any of the others really.

Damn, I was going to have to think of another name for that guy. 'Blue-eyes' lack the vivid description of 'psycho-bat-lady' and the amusement value of 'Mr. Monosyllable'.

"Mr. Mysterious," I mused aloud before rolling my eyes. "Yeah, maybe if we were trying out for a reality dating show...good God, that's a disturbing thought - oh, hey Howard," I grinned at him as his face flickered onto my screen, rubbing my nose sheepishly. "'Bout time you answered my call! Another ten minutes and I'd be royally screwed."

"Huh," Howard greeted me, allowing his sunglasses to slip down his nose so he could peer over top of them. He never was the type to exchange the usual polite BS that the normal world seemed obsessed with, and I loved the guy all the more for it. You always knew where you stood with Howard. "What happened to you, kid? Looks like you stared down the wrong end of a vacuum pump."

"Long story," I grumbled, absently waving a hand. Seriously, why was it everyone felt the need to comment on my eyes as if I was completely oblivious to the state of the damn things? "Ran into some trouble here. Would appreciate it if ya could help me out."

"Depends on what you're needing, I suppose," he mused slowly, snapping the glasses back into place. A loud crash from behind sent him spinning around quicker than I thought he was capable; for an instant, I was able to see a glimpse of what was behind him.

My mouth fell open.

"Bird brains," he muttered, turning back to face me. "I'm surrounded by a bunch of damned, loud-mouthed, oxygen-wasting, good-fer-nothing, cretinous -"

"Geez, Howie, what the hell was that thing?" I gaped, interrupting him before he could go off on too much of a tangent, trying to catch a glimpse around him at the behemoth dwarfing his cargo hold. "A new suit?"

"An old one," he answered vaguely. "We're trying to get the blasted thing working – that is, if the morons that work for me would quit breakin' it every time they step near it. At the rate they're goin', it's going to be worse off than when we started."

"But – " I protested weakly.

"So what kinda trouble have you managed to get yourself into this time?" he interjected.

Okay, I could take the hint, but it was rare that I stumbled on something that even Howard didn't want to talk about, especially to me. He was pretty straightforward guy, not many things were elevated to 'secret' status. "Yeah, s'nothing serious, I just... I need to get outta here," I replied, rubbing the back of my neck as I flashed him a sheepish grin. "You know how it is."

"With you, I don't even want to think about it," he replied, scratching his chin.

I chuckled. I suppose Howard did have a better insight than most people of the kind of trouble I was capable of getting myself into, and it wasn't exactly the first time he'd had to bail me out of it either.

Apparently he was operating on the same wavelength as me as his next question was, "Does it involve police, OZ or authority figures of any kind?"

"Uh, nope, not this time," I replied, flashing him a grin. That caused him to pause as he tried to figure out who was left, or for me to volunteer an explanation. That wasn't happening today; I didn't have the time to waste on all the details, and Howard knew I wouldn't keep anything hidden that'd endanger anybody. "D'ya have anyone in the L3 cluster?" I asked hopefully.

"Things have been quiet lately, what with you kids layin' low," he replied, in his version of an apology. "I only have one crew out, near L2. Right near your old colony too, if I'm not mistaken."

"Damn," I muttered, leaning on the side of the vid-screen, and looking up to think. Having them right near by would've almost been too good to be true. "The complete other ass-end of the universe."

He snorted in amusement. "I think you're about right there. I'll get 'em to swing your way when they're done," he offered.

I winced. That'd be cutting it too close for me, not to mention a week or more of wages for him to fork out, plus the lost revenue if he already had a buyer lined up for the salvage. He done enough for me already; I couldn't put him out like this. "Naw, Howard, don't do that. I can find another way."

Somehow. Even if it did mean facing Heero again.

"You wouldn't be calling me up if you had another way," he chuckled, glancing behind him as another bang echoed through the hull actually managed to shake his vid-screen. "At least, not a subtle one."

I barked a laugh; damn guy knew me too well. "Well, I'll make it up to ya," I offered, punching in the new coordinates as I talked. "I got off the colony just fine... no one decided to tail me. Least, not yet. I probably have enough fuel to get to L5 and hide out in the debris field for a few days if they could swing by and get me there."

"Probably?" An eyebrow appeared over top of his sunglasses. Trust him to hone in that word.

"It'll be tight," I conceded reluctantly, self-preservation finally winning out over pride. "I'd appreciate it if they didn't stop to go sightseeing. Whose team?"

"Tang's –" He cut out suddenly as a wave of static scrolled down the screen. I didn't have long before we lost communication for good.

I pulled a face that Howard missed while the comm-link attempted to re-establish itself.

It wasn't that I had a problem with Tang, nor him with me. He was a surly old thing, with no sense of humor to speak of (unless you counted the devilish satisfaction he got smacking people across the back of the head when he caught them slacking off on-duty). He'd also been the first person to introduce me to the practical aspect of using pressure points (albeit, a firsthand demonstration) back before I ever got involved with G. After I'd regained the use of my arm, I'd managed to convince him to teach me a couple of moves.

No, my problem with Tang was that he was an L5 native, from one of the more traditional, superstitious Chinese colonies, and they _did not_ go near the debris field.

The debris field was made up of the remnants of two colonies; one of which was one of the first prototypes to be built at L5. It had long since been rendered inhabitable by the time it exploded – venting malfunction, or so went the official story – but the colony nearest to it wasn't so lucky and tens of thousands were killed. Now the area was believed to be haunted by restless spirits, at least, according to the Chinese. I'd even heard stories of clan elders refusing to let a ship dock on colony if they'd been within a few hundred miles of it. Something about being afraid of 'hungry ghosts' hitchhiking along and possessing the men on board. Not all Chinese believed that, of course, but the more progressive colonies of L5 generally used it as a reason to deny entry to certain ships when they had no other excuse.

"Look, am I gonna to have to worry about the crew being... delayed?" I asked warily when Howard's image finally stabilized in front of me. "My only other option is L4, an' I don't wanna risk goin' near it in this beast. Their border sensors would easily pick me up."

"They'll be no problems," Howard replied, muttering something under his breath that sounded like 'at least after I've had a word with him.'

"Yeah, well... tell 'em to ping me when they get near, and I'll meet up with them," I snorted skeptically. "Somethings I just don't want to leave to chance."

Howard chuckled at that, still shaking his head as he killed the call and I was left with a blank screen and a very quiet cabin. Plugging in my new coordinates only wasted a few minutes of my time.

Brilliant. I was bored already. This did not bode well for the upcoming days.

It was too still, too empty and too quiet. I could hear my blood rushing in my ears, hear cloth rustling with each breath I took. I didn't like it. The remedy was an easy one though as I switched over to my external monitors, so the Earth filling up my entire left monitor and overflowing into the center one, stars filling in the rest. A smile twitched across my lips in satisfaction and I cued some music before settling back into my seat.

The object Heero had left me in his note was sitting on the keyboard where I'd set it so I wouldn't accidentally sit on the damn thing. It was staring at me. I picked it up, twirling it around carefully in my fingers in time with the music, rubbing along the grain of the smooth wood with my fingers.

It was the carving of the bird I'd given Heero in his dorm, all those months ago. To be honest, I was beyond astounded that he'd still had it in his possession – I assumed he would have tossed in the trash at his earliest convenience.

"You're an infuriating ass, Heero Yuy," I chuckled wryly, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth as I voiced the thought I'd had that morning. Most people were predictable in their actions and reactions – a few minutes of careful observation and I could file 'em away under the appropriate tabs in my head. That wasn't to say I thought people were boring – it was just their nature, and my ability to accurately discern it was yet another skill that had been born out of my years on the streets.

But Heero was the exception. Heero was always the exception.

I don't know how he managed to figure out I was leaving before I even did. Hell, I didn't know how he did half the things he did, but I would figure him out.

I just couldn't let him do the same to me.

* * *

_As always, thanks for reading!_


	15. Chapter 15

Once again, sorry for the delay in posting. My BF/common-law/SO (whatever you'd like to call him ^_^) was in a very bad car accident shortly after I last updated, where his vehicle was struck by multiple vehicles as the result of a stupid distracted driver. He broke a lot of bones (nearing the double digits), had some internal injuries and a minor head injury. The last couple months has been spent getting him on the mend, covering for him at work and working more myself to cover the lost income, not to mention both of us dealing with the emotional effects of it all. Needless to say, writing was one of the last things on my mind. Thankfully he is nearly completely recovered.

Thanks again everyone for sticking with me, and for all your words of encouragement. ^_^

**Chapter Notes**:

**ICCD**: inter-colony criminal data bank.

**Snath**: the handle of a scythe.

* * *

**Chapter 15  
**

**20:59 (Day 4)**

After nearly two full months of barely managing a quick piss in private, it was strangely unnerving being on my own again. Not knowing precisely when Howard's crew would rendezvous with me, I suppose, gave time the illusion of dragging it's feet, as I had to stretch out my meager resources to last for as long as I possible. I lost the day/night sim., adjusted the ambient temperature range to bearable limits, cycled the pseudo-grav and confined myself to the coffin-like cockpit. The only luxury I allowed myself was my music.

Maybe I went a little overboard? I dunno. But with my life, I'd learned long ago you didn't take anything for granted. Never mind food; stuck where I was now even oxygen was a precious commodity. Although the oxygen itself could be recycled almost indefinitely, the power to do it was limited. After using as much fuel as I dared to put distance between myself and the colony, I powered down the shuttle until only the most meager of life-support functions remained, using the initial momentum and Earth's gravity to create a slingshot effect in the direction of L5.

It wasn't so bad in the beginning. I finally caught up on my sleep and spent the rest of the time familiarizing myself with the pathetically unsophisticated shipboard computer. Even though day and night were indistinguishable with only the emergency functions as opposed to the day/night cycles, Quatre sent regular messages, each one opening with the day and time. I think perhaps he knew, in his own way, how lonely and out of touch I was feeling. I don't know whether it was his gift, or just that he was an incredibly shrewd guy. Either way, I was thankful that I had something to tie me to the world outside my little bubble.

He was even nice enough to not bring up the subject of the hissy-fit Heero had inevitably thrown when he'd learned I'd left.

**03:19 (Day 4)**

"Well, it's day four already. That should be the half-way mark, right?" Quatre flashed me a grin, before his head bounced up and down on my screen as he adjusted the camera before him.

I instinctively smiled at him, even though this was the second time I'd played back this message. It was impossible not to brighten when Quatre damn-near radiated positivity through the screen.

"I hope you're sleeping okay now that you're not inconvenienced by my dreams. I have to say, it definitely feels strange not having you around, but at least your snoring's not keeping me awake." He grinned impishly at me.

"Yeah, that's still not funny the second time around," I countered with a mock-scowl. "I _don't_ snore."

"You do," his image replied with a teasing wink, as he'd anticipated my denial. "Anyway, I told you in my last message, you don't need to apologize for leaving, and you're not bad friend. You're dealing with a lot too. Have you managed to figure out where you saw that man from?"

"That would be a big fat 'no'," I sighed, scrubbing tiredly at my face. This would be so much easier if we could just talk face-to-face in real time. Of course, I'd been the one to ensure that wasn't possible by leaving, so I guess I couldn't complain about it either. When I'd swiped this shuttle I'd been aware that it only had a short-range comm. system, but I didn't realize how quickly my life would come to revolve around the brief live-communication window I got every time a satellite neared.

"Heero's been doing some research – don't worry, I've been keeping an eye on him," he added hurriedly, as always seeming to know just what I needed to hear. "Nothing related to your dreaming problem, just a basic search of the ICCD for those men we were up against. I don't think he's turned anything up yet – at least, nothing he's shared with Trowa or myself. It was a good idea of his, and I was thinking maybe you should search too... I mean, it will give you something to do and perhaps something which will jog your memory."

"I highly doubt I'll be able to discover anything Heero can't," I murmured dubiously, pulling my blanket tighter around my shoulders before leaning back in the seat and propping my legs up on the console. "But I s'pose it can't hurt to try."

"It can't hurt to try," Quatre echoed a split-second after me. "I'll attempt to do some research of my own too, but it's getting harder to get out of the house at all now. A man was shot and killed the other day and now Heero's convinced there's trouble brewing in this colony – not OZ, don't worry. Drug related, or something like that."

I lunged forward and paused the playback this time, resting my chin on my hand as I studied his frozen face. There was a fair amount of reading between the lines to be done here. Heero wouldn't be worried about a drug-related death; not with all the other shit going on, and the fact that he _was_ worried troubled me. But Quatre wasn't and he was more likely to worry over something than Heero was. It was perplexing. It left me with two likely scenarios; the first being that Quatre was being deliberately selective about the details he shared with me not wanting to upset me when he knew I couldn't do anything about it. The second option was that Heero was seeing other signs alluding to either a gang war or political upset and not letting on. While I wanted to believe that he wouldn't keep things like that hidden intentionally (not when it had the potential to affect everyone) it wasn't something I was willing to bet on. 'Predictable' would be the last word I'd use to describe Heero.

"Anyway," Quatre shrugged as I resumed playback, "it just means my research time is limited to when Trowa and I come to check on the suits."

"You and Trowa, eh?" I grinned. I'd not seen this part of the message the first time – as soon as I'd heard him alluding to trouble, I'd gone back to replay the message from the beginning, paying closer attention to his word choice and body language with the second viewing.

"Trowa's been teaching me some new moves today as well – no, don't start laughing, _sparring _moves," he added exasperatedly as he hurriedly clarified his statement.

I chuckled anyway, having been reminded of our conversation about the flute.

"He's a good teacher and he's got a different style than you do. It's more of an excuse to stay out of the house than anything. There was this incident today involving Wufei, and Trowa's cat..." he paused for effect, obviously knowing how I'd appreciate that.

"Don't you dare," I warned him sternly, brandishing a finger at him. "Spill! What cat?"

"Did I tell you about the cat?" he mused idly, looking up in thought.

"Quatre!" I snapped, wishing not for the first time that this was a live message. "You know you didn't tell me about any damn cat!"

He grinned impishly at me. "Okay, so, apparently Trowa's been feeding this stray cat that's been hanging around ever since we got here. I guess this morning he didn't give it it's breakfast fast enough, and somehow it snuck into the house." Quatre paused as if struck by a sudden thought and an impish smile spread across his face. "At least that's the story Trowa's going with. Anyway, Wufei was cooking bacon and every time he turned his back on the grill, this cat sneaking out of that cabinet - you know, that one in the corner with the rotten wood that Heero accidentally ripped the door off that one morning - anyway, it was reaching up and stealing a piece."

"Oh god, I wish I could've seen that," I crowed.

"Anyway, I suppose it goes without saying that Wufei wasn't particularly amused when he finally caught sight of his bacon sneaking across the kitchen floor."

I rolled my eyes. "When is Wufei amused by anything?"

Quatre's head cocked sideways then, appearing to be listening to something. My assumption was confirmed when he smiled ruefully. "Sorry, Duo. Trowa's calling. I've got to go now, but I'll send another message tomorrow. Stay strong, my friend, and let me know as soon as you're picked up."

"Count on it," I sighed heavily as his image faded away, leaving me alone once again. I toyed with the end of my braid for several long moments, before taking a deep breath and pasting a smile on my face to begin recording a proper reply.

**22:30 (Day 6)**

"Hey, Duo, Quatre here."

There was a delay before his picture appeared on my screen – even without seeing his face I could tell that Quatre was tired; uncharacteristic from all the other messages he'd sent me where he'd tried to remain determinedly upbeat.

"It's day six since you've left. Hope you're still hanging in there and not turned into space trash since your last message."

"I've always been space trash," I snorted wryly. "One of the many perks from being born in L2, Quat."

'Course, he couldn't hear me, and without him there to whack me over the head, the comment didn't sound funny, just pathetic.

"Anyway, you missed fireworks last night. I have no idea who started it, but Heero and Wufei were arguing... pretty badly. I couldn't really understand what they were going on about, most of the comments were rather veiled. At least, until Heero called Wufei a coward and Wufei hit him." Quatre sighed, looking completely worn out as he stared off past the camera into the distance. "Trowa and I'd been staying of it until then, but we couldn't let it escalate any further."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," I sighed wearily, scratching the back of my head. Only another Gundam pilot would understand how many ways those two could inflict pain on each other without leaving a lasting injury or mark. Hell, and that was assuming they had that much restraint. Not knowing anything about Wufei made him a total wildcard. Heero had tremendous self-control but even I didn't know what would happen if he was pushed over the edge.

"I've never seen anything like it, Duo," he continued, meeting my eyes directly once again. "You know how Heero looks when he's angry – he just gets so cold, and still. But Wufei; he radiates fury. I could feel them both... couldn't bring myself to go near them."

Quatre looked down then, appearing to be ashamed.

"Don't, Quat," I ordered futilely. "You can't help that you feel things that the rest of us can't. You told me yourself that its worse the more familiar you are with somebody."

"Trowa was amazing though. He didn't hesitate – just calmly walked between them, and told them, 'Enough. We shouldn't be fighting each other.'," Quatre trailed off. There was an echo of a smile present on his face that rendered me confused until he added, "that was what I said to him, when we first met. I think he gets it now, too - that we should be fighting as a unit. Not that it changed anything," he added dryly, almost as an afterthought.

It was my turn to look away then, ashamed. I'd been too wrapped up in my own problems that I'd just been dismissing Quatre's. I knew he'd wanted us all to stay together, but hadn't realized he'd felt so strongly about it.

"Wufei left last night... pretty much the same way you did. We woke up this morning and he was gone. At least, I'm assuming he left of his own free will, and that Trowa would've put a stop to any plans of Heero's that involved rolling Wufei's body into the nearest body of water." Quatre rolled his eyes exasperatedly, which made me laugh in relief. At least he was still able to find the humor in things, that was a good sign. "Heero and Trowa have been talking about leaving ever since you did, but now I guess it's finally happening."

I guess that was my explanation for why he looked so down. It must be so infuriating to him, to be so convinced that we should work together, to have Trowa agree... and to be so powerless to do anything about it. I left. Wufei left. And now Trowa and Heero were too.

"I'll probably be out of touch for a couple of days while I take of some things on my end."

"Take all the time you need, buddy-boy," I murmured with a sigh. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Stay safe."

The message ended.

**21:12 (Day 8)**

My communication window was just about up and I'd been preparing to log off the computer and try and catch some shut-eye when a 'Breaking News' banner caught my attention.

"_Terror_ _in_ _the_ _Heavens_," I snorted. "Very dramatic. Could be anything from a comet passing too close to Earth, to another UFO sighting."

I tapped open the link anyway, my curiosity piqued until I saw the first images. The only thing that stopped me from falling over was that I didn't have any gravity.

"-_stay tuned for live images of what military officials are claiming to be the wreckage of a Gundam mobile suit. The Gundam was discovered hiding in the L1 cluster mere minutes ago. When OZ military troops attempted to defend the colony to protect the citizens from the attacking Gundam, the suit was brutally destroyed by its own pilot."_

The screen went fuzzy for a moment; my window was nearly up.

"I don't give a crap about your bullshit story, lady, just show me a shot of the wreckage!" I yelled at the reporter on the screen angrily. "Who was it this time? Was it Heero again? Didn't the asshole learn the first time?"

I got a beautiful close up of the reporter's nose as the cameraman attempted to zoom past her shoulder to see out of their shuttle's window. My screen filled with static again, and for one gut-wrenching second I thought I was going to be stuck wondering who'd been attacked until my next communication window, twenty-two hours away.

Instead, I was rewarded with the screen flaring back to life, long enough for me to catch a glimpse of one of Sandrock's shotels and hear the reporter say, "_The body of the Gundam pilot has-"_

Blank.

"You piece-of-shit, no-good, lousy, stupid reporter; I hope you rot in hell!" I screamed, miraculously stopping just short of putting my fist through the vid-screen.

I didn't sleep that night.

**18:45 (Day 8)**

"Duo, I want you to know I'm okay, but I have some bad news," Quatre's voice greeted me, a very sheepish image of his face quickly following. "I had an encounter with OZ forces yesterday and Sandrock was kind of... damaged."

After twenty-two hours of fearing the worst, the only thing I could do was pause the message and slump over the keyboard with laughter; too raw, too loud and insupressible to really be considered laughter. Normal kids? It'd be, "Mum, dad, there's nothing to worry about but there's been a teensy accident. I'm fine, but the car's kinda totaled."

Us?

Same thing, but with a Gundam in place of the car. Some days I feel like I'm some twisted alternate reality, or that my body's locked up in some insane asylum and I've created this whole fucked up world, because shit happens here that is almost too surreal to believe.

"I was picked up by an Alliance shuttle before OZ got to me and, well, the short version is ignore the news stories. Nothing they're reporting is even close to what happened," he continued when I resumed playback.

"Big surprise there, Quat," I chuckled, making a mental note to pull up some of the reports anyway to see just what exactly he meant by that. "Man, am I glad you're okay."

I could tell he wasn't really though. He appeared rattled, either on edge or upset as words tumbled out of his mouth and he hardly paused long enough to draw in a breath before he continued.

"I hope you're alright. You will let me know the moment you're picked up, right? I'm worried about you. I'm going to lay low for a while... Sandrock's pretty bad off, Duo. I'm out of this fight for a while." Quatre looked away from the camera suddenly; I could see his jaw clenching. When he looked back, his eyes were peculiarly bright.

"Aw geez, Quat," I groaned sadly. So that was why he'd appeared so agitated. "That's what happens when you pick battles in space when your damn suit isn't outfitted for the job."

"Anyway, I was just checking in. Didn't know if you'd seen any of the news reports. Didn't want you to worry."

"Too late," I gave him a bitter half-smile, thinking of the sleepless 'night' I'd just had. "But the thought was nice."

He gave me a brilliant smile, as though he could hear my words even though he'd recorded his message several hours ago. Amazing how Quat could be halfway across the galaxy and still make me feel like he was right here beside me.

"Stay safe, my dear friend." His arm reached forward to turn off the camera, when it hesitated. "Oh yes, I forgot to mention it's day eight since we separated. Just in case you lost count." He winked at me.

**03:45 (Day 12)**

By day twelve, my mood bordered on positively foul. My hair was so greasy it could've easily supplied a fast food restaurant for a week. I was pretty sure the potency of my stench was nearing comparison to levels reached on my street days in L2. It'd been two days since I'd arrived at L5. Three days since I'd last eaten. Four days since my last communication with Quatre. For whatever reason, I'd not been able to pick up the satellite since then. Probably solar flares or something, those tended to screw around with communications on a regular basis, and it wasn't like I'd had the most reliable connection to begin with. Thank all things good-and-mighty that the last thing I'd heard was Quatre was okay, or I might have just lost the last shred of rationality I possessed.

I spent most of my time curled up in a blanket, strapped down securely in the captain's chair, staring out the view screens. Depending on which sensors I decided to use, I could either get a spectacular view of the Earth, marred only as it overflowed from one screen to another, or a seemingly endless view of stars. Neither one of those sights ever got old. For the most part, the hum of lights and computers faded discreetly into the background until I no longer noticed them. Every half an hour, I'd be jarred from my thoughts as a hiss indicated fresh oxygen being injected into the cabin.

After four days without talking to Quatre, I suddenly realized that this was the longest I'd ever gone without talking or interacting with another human being. Fact of life; humans are social creatures by nature, and I was very social. Being personable was just as much a survival mechanism as my killing methods, but one of my better ones. People made more allowances for some who was friendly as opposed to someone who was a complete dick. Alliances can be made. It was a concept that had been drilled into me for as long as I could remember – on the streets, your alliance could mean the difference between life and death.

As a general rule I tried not to, but sometimes I wondered what my life would've been like if I hadn't stowed away on the Sweeper's ship, and met G...become Deathscythe's pilot. It really was a pointless exercise because I thought the two most likely answers were 'jail' and 'dead'.

Like I said, I _really_ tried not to think about it. There's no point worrying about what could have happened, not when what was actually happening occupied so much of my time, like my dream-walking capabilities. No point fantasizing a life without them, because Reality's always waiting just around the corner to slap me in the face and remind me that they've not gone away.

I'd like to think that I've managed to do pretty damn well for myself considering. Back in my training days, G used to bring in people for me to spar against – they didn't know why, of course. For all they knew, I was some rich brat whose daddy would pay anything for the best training master...or something. In the beginning it wasn't so bad – nobody expected me, a mere kid, to hold my own against people that had been studying martial arts or street fighting their entire lives. I was just expected to learn quickly and not complain. But as time went on, it turned into my own personal version of hell. I got the crap beaten out of me every day because I had to hold back. Unlike real life, in training they tended to frown on killing your sparring partner and there's only so many times you can go unconscious at the same time as your opponent before funny looks are exchanged and awkward questions get asked.

But I wanted to be Deathscythe's pilot and so I persevered because I'm a stubborn little shit. Perhaps it made me even better at what I do, but hey, that's just wondering about the past again. All I knew was, I incapacitated when I could, and if I killed, it was always quick and clean, and that's more than I could say for a lot of people.

I tried not to second guess a lot of my decisions, with one exception: whenever I did make a kill, I did tend to look back and analyze it. The way I saw it, there's a fine line between a soldier and a serial killer; someone who killed because it was necessary and someone who killed for sport. I enjoyed the battle; the hunt; the espionage and outsmarting my opponents. I lived for the adrenaline rush of piloting and the high I got when a mission went according to plan. I liked how, through piloting, I'd gained the friendship of people like Quatre and Howard.

But I never wanted to enjoy killing.

Sometimes I questioned the sanity of the scientists that created the Gundams...I mean, basically they'd handed state-of-the-art killing machines to five hormone-driven, slightly unstable, damaged teenage boys and told us to have at 'er. That was another thing that could have potentially gone Very Badly if you wanted to dwell on it. But I didn't get the sense from the other pilots that they enjoyed killing either. Quatre still apologized every time he killed, so I figured it was safe to say there was no pleasure there. Heero definitely got the battle fever like me, but he was all business when it came down to doin' the dirty. I'd never seen Trowa pilot, but the vibes the guy gave off didn't suggest psychopath. And Wufei? Well, I still wasn't entirely sure I could pick the guy out of a line-up, so there was no point making any judgments yet. The best I could say about him was he hadn't gone on any murderous rampages... well, none that I knew of. Decking Heero didn't count, not when the urge had crossed my mind on more than one occasion.

It made me wonder where Mr. Him-With-the-Blue-Eyes fit in. I knew he was dangerous...but I was dangerous. Heero was dangerous – correction, he could be downright scary when he wanted to be. Hell, a butter knife could be dangerous in the wrong hands. It didn't mean anything, other than I'd learned long ago to listen to my instincts. I think the most important thing I knew about Blue-Eyes was that something about me scared him. Or did I? Was it me that scared him, or was it what I'd nearly seen in his head. That flash I'd gotten...

That flash...

Damn it! There it was again. Recognition for the barest moment and then...nothing!

I slammed a fist down on the armrest angrily. Gah, it was driving me nuts. A damn 'tip-of-the tongue' memory. And the harder I tried to place it, the further away it slipped.

But... a sudden impulse. A song I hadn't listened to in ages. And for good reason. But there was something about that song that linked it to that particular memory. Why else would I have the urge to listen to it?

My hands hesitated over the keyboard. I hated that song. I'd hated it for so long, I couldn't even remember why. Finally, I keyed it with a shudder.

I listened to that damn song four times, and got a whole lotta nothin' out of it. All of a sudden, the subtle hums of the computer were distracting me, though I'd not even noticed them before.

I turned the volume up.

The chair felt hard. My ass was falling asleep. My knees felt stiff. I had an itch.

With a frustrated grow, I scratched the itch, killed the gravity completely and released the harness that kept me secured to the chair until I floated aimlessly in the cabin with nothing to distract me. Tried to relax to music that, as a generally rule, did everything _but_ invoke feelings of calmness and relaxation from me.

But just like his dream; Blue-eyes' dream, the final piece lingered aggravatingly out of reach.

It wasn't until halfway through the seventh replay that I got the shock – two actually – and really, it was more like I was brutally slapped in the face as that missing piece slammed into place in one gut-wrenching moment.

I now knew who Blue-eyes was.

I remembered.

And that's when I heard the ping; the sound I'd been waiting the last twelve days to hear... a split second before my proximity alarms screamed to life, drowning out everything; the music, myself. I wasn't alone here. Not anymore. But the Sweepers wouldn't have set of my proximity alarms. A quick glance on the main screen confirmed those two facts.

I wasn't alone.

It definitely wasn't the Sweepers.

**03:51**

Everything faded; the alarms, the music, the lights, even the stars; it all became redundant, nothing but inconsequential background scenery that I filtered out, until all I was aware of was my heart pounding rhythmically in my ears, the only proof that time had not stood still completely, and the OZ carrier.

It was the shark, moving with the lazy, arrogant glide of a predator. I was the puny little fish trying to pretend it was invisible, burying it's head in the sand. Reminding myself that breathing wasn't optional; that _it _would be the last thing to give me away.

_But_ _who_ _the_ _hell pinged me? Couldn't have been OZ... that'd only give away their position, not mine. Did that mean Tang's crew was here too? _

I ground my teeth together in frustration. If they were here, I hope they had the sense to stay out of the way. I was quite capable of taking care of myself and I didn't want to have to explain to Howard that I lost an entire crew and salvage ship in one go.

There was still a chance they'd just pass on by. In theory at least, there was nothing of interest here, just a dead shuttle – a drifting corpse. We weren't burning fuel, we didn't generate a gravity field, hell, we probably wouldn't even give off a suspicious heat signature; not with the majority of the computers off. Running a basic scan, they wouldn't have been able to pick up any kind of abnormal energy readings.

_Was their trajectory decreasing, or was I just imagining it?_

Time had slowed down, or my perceptions had sped up; it didn't matter because time was a relative concept here and now, and irrelevant when the only thing that mattered was that the shuttle just _kept on passing by_.

For crying out loud, if my heart ricocheted off my ribs any louder, the entire population of Earth would be able to hear it, never mind that shuttle.

"Oh, goddammit," I hissed through my teeth, narrowing my eyes as I saw the starboard airlock doors begin to open. "You had to be nosy little shits, didn't ya? Now I have to kill you."

I didn't handle apprehension well. Sitting, waiting, watching, waiting some more; adrenaline surging with no way to burn it off. Not my style. But action, that I could handle. I twisted awkwardly in midair and launched myself off the ceiling towards the cockpit door, pounding on the button furiously to open it. A blast of cold air greeted me – the cargo hold was freezing and my skin burned from where it contacted the metal as I vaulted off the door frame. But it didn't matter. In a few minutes, things were going to get very, _very_ hot around here if I had anything to do with it.

"Hey, buddy boy!" I whooped at 'Scythe, snagging the snath as I shot past and using my momentum to swing down around it until I was level with the cockpit. "Feel up to showin' a few Ozzies why they shouldn't go stickin' their damn noses into other people's business? I don't know 'bout you, but I could be up for a little action."

I didn't have long, I knew, as I threw myself into my chair. If I'd witnessed them opening the airlock, they were already suited up and ready to mobilize. I was just praying that they'd investigate a little longer before attacking outright – give me enough time to get us battle-ready. But – shit, what if they'd already run the shuttle ID? Would they care about some dinky little cargo runner being out in the boonies like this? Or would that just intensify their interest? Maybe they were just coming to check it out to see if there was anything worth salvaging on board?

The last point was plausible; it was rare that you'd come across a person who'd turn down an opportunity to 'supplement' their salary, but I couldn't gamble on that either. There was just too many damn variables to make a guess, especially when a good ninety-five percent of the OZ army was comprised of saluting baboons that shared a communal braincell.

Unwritten law of the universe: stupid people were incredibly adept at discovering new ways to do incredibly stupid things, and that made them unpredictable.

"Come on, come _on!"_ I growled, drumming my fingers on the armrest. The damn computer was taking forever to boot...or was it just that it had been that long since I'd been in a battle situation? Was the adrenaline really affecting me that much? Didn't help that 'patience' was nowhere to be found on my top ten list of attributes.

"Finally!"

I keyed in the codes to gain access to the main interface and quickly ran a thermal scan while the primary engines came online and the scythe powered up.

"Seven suits. Taurus', from the looks of 'em," I muttered, using process of elimination as the infrared images suddenly flashed up on my secondary screen. I stifled a snort ."You're kidding me, right? Maybe I give you guys too much credit. There was ten times the number of suits in Singapore; I don't care if this is your newest model, it ain't got ten times the power."

Getting Deathscythe off the flat bed and cramming him into the escape pod had taken some fancy maneuvering on my part to ensure the shuttle remained intact enough to still be flight worthy. It wasn't designed to admit or hold anything but routine cargo; as a result, my Gundam had been forced to his knees and had only been secured by attaching the weak magnetic locks in his feet to the walls to keep him from breaching the hull in the zero-grav.

But the fun part was, now, I wasn't planning on leaving the shuttle the same way we'd boarded. I studied the infrared scans intently, trying to predict the movements...

"Gotcha," I laughed triumphantly, stabbing the scythe through the hull and feeling the strangely satisfying resistance as it connected and suddenly impaled through my target. I wrenched the scythe up in one smooth motion – as I did, I purposely angled my strike to sever the shuttle fuel lines and was hurtled backwards by the resulting explosion, earning myself a rather impressive distraction and some fighting room. Even though I was prepared for it, I was forced to look away from the monitors for a split second – though filtered, the fireball was too bright for my eyes; it felt like I was staring directly at the sun and though I was protected by 'Scythe's thick, gundamium hide, the temperature in the cockpit suddenly spiked to a mildly uncomfortable level.

Apparently I'd been a little too efficient at conserving fuel. My bad.

"Now _that's_ how you make an entrance!" I yelled at my screens, simultaneously engaging the stabilizers while making careful adjustments to the yoke to regain control. By the time the debris field had dispersed, I was beyond ready, and threw myself wildly at the closest suit.

"Huh, so that's what the latest model actually looks like," I observed, piercing a second suit clean through with the scythe. The Taurus seized up, electricity arced across the body until finally it exploded violently, shrapnel pinging off my suit and echoing musically in the cockpit.

"And that's what it looks like in pieces," I concluded dryly, already aiming at the next suit with my cannon.

"What the –" My eyes widened in amazement as the suit shot out of view, too fast for even my keen eyesight to keep a lock on it. "Where'd you go?" I yelled angrily, slamming a fist down the the console. "Damn, they're fast."

I scanned for another target, but the suits appeared to shimmer out of view like some kind of mirage just as soon as I'd spotted them.

Sheer intuition kicked in a split second before my proximity alarms began to blare but I'd already thrown the yoke sideways and jammed down on the foot pedal. The shot clipped 'Scythe's shoulder and we were sent spinning sideways – I couldn't compensate fast enough before a second shot connected and threw us over backwards, careening head-over-heels out of control and leaving no mobility in 'Scythe's left arm. I fought through the sudden vertigo; the breathlessness, as I was repetitively slammed against my harness and the back of my seat, but it was no use – as soon as I gained some semblance of control I was thrown off-course again by the lightning-fast suits until I began to feel like I was stuck in a game of ping-pong, where Deathscythe and I had replaced the goddamn ball. I closed my eyes against the spinning images on my screen, resisted the instinct to protect my head with my arms and tried to fight back the nausea induced by constantly trying to get a focus on things. As one last ditch effort, I floored my thrusters to escalate the velocity of the spin, hoping that the unorthodox move would throw them off guard and me out of their projected target range.

But my Gundam just couldn't compensate fast enough. I'd berated Quatre for this, and not taken my own advice... I shouldn't have gone picking a fight when my suit wasn't set up for a space battle; hell, I hadn't even had the equipment to repair him since the battle at the Singapore base. We definitely were not at our best and unfortunately, tempting fate had caught up with me. I finally managed to curtail the seemingly endless spiraling, only to realize two things.

They'd stopped firing.

I was already out of fuel.

"Dammit," I complained, a bitter smile spreading on my face as I slumped back against my seat. The world still rotated rapidly around me; I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. Projectile vomit in zero-grav was so not fun. It got _everywhere_. "So this is how it ends, eh Deathscythe? Defeated by five lousy suits, just because I still haven't learned to quit messing with shit that ain't broken."

My vision blurred suddenly, my hand drifted to my face. My cool, clammy fingers felt soothing on my forehead...until they came back bloody. I didn't remember anything hitting me...

If I was an optimist, I'd venture to say that losing had certainly helped to rapidly put things in perspective. I could've stayed in that damn safehouse and avoided all this. But even now, with all the shit that was going on, I wasn't about to go there. I was a soldier, and soldiers are realists. This was my situation and I had to deal with it. There was no Heero coming to the rescue this time, no Quatre providing support. I had no backup, no fuel, and was outnumbered. Being captured alive was not an option for me, and there was no way in hell they were getting their filthy monkey paws on my Deathscythe.

It made the decision easy, right?

I had to self-detonate.

My vision darkened abruptly again, and I closed my eyes against it. It was then I noticed how hard I was shaking, but whether it was from the adrenaline or apprehension of what I was about to do, I couldn't tell. We go into battles prepared to die, but not like this. I always assumed I'd be killed instantly, by a bullet or a bomb or mortar shell. I was ready for that eventuality; hell, shit happens, and besides, I signed up for war, not the bloody ballet. But when freedom and life were so temptingly close... so easily obtainable, that all I had to do, was absolutely nothing. Sit here and let myself become a prisoner of war.

But that was the problem. There was a subtle difference between accepting death, and _choosing_ death.

I could choose death. I wouldn't ever accept it. I wasn't a quitter; not by a long shot. I wouldn't have ever made it off the street of L2 if I was.

I clenched my fists angrily, wincing as something sharp cut into the palm of my hand. I opened my eyes and stared dumbfound for several moments, unable to comprehend what was in my grasp. Where it had suddenly appeared from.

The wooden bird lay there innocently. I couldn't remember ever reaching for it.

Its outstretched talons were coated in blood.

My blood.

But that's not what held my attention. The blood on the talons was fresh, viscous and bright, as if it had just made a fresh kill. The blood on the beak and wingtips was not.

That blood was not mine.

And suddenly a few more pieces of the ever-growing puzzle materialized.

"Did you have to make this decision, Heero?" I murmured to it softly, rubbing it gently with my thumb, feeling a worn groove between the wings where some of the feathers had been smoothed away entirely. How many times had Heero's fingers had to have rubbed in that exact place to erode away at the wood like that? "When the order came though, did you consider ignoring it? Choosing life? How did you know...what was the right thing to do?"

I could remember that day as clearly as if it was happening right now. I saw his face as he stepped out of Wing's cockpit, detonator in hand. There was nothing on it. No fear. No anger. No hesitation. No indecision. He was just a body going through the motions; his mind had already chosen death, probably long before that moment.

Had he held the detonator in one hand and this bird in the other? When had it become something more to him than a stupid wooden carving?

Where did the line drawn between choosing to live to fight another day, and sacrificing yourself for the greater good? When it saved one life? Ten? A thousand?

Like I once said to Quatre, it was the age-old question, and for a damn good reason.

And when was a life considered 'saved'? When their hearts are still beating? When they're not in danger? Or when –

Was I even saving lives? Or avenging them?

"How did you know, Heero?" I yelled angrily, slamming a fist into my monitor. "Was it the orders? Guess what, we aren't getting anymore damn orders! There's no one to tell me -"

My mouth snapped shut abruptly. I'd had this discussion before too, also with Quatre. What had I said to him?

_'If and when the time comes, it'll be because I decided, not because a Higher-Up deemed it necessary.'_

It had been clear to me then. _I_ had to make the decision. For me; my judgment, no one else's. You couldn't think of the bigger picture, weigh the variables, because the future wasn't predictable.

And that meant my decision had already been made a long time ago, at least in my heart. If I was captured, OZ would kill me.

Fact.

They'd torture me first and then they'd desecrate my Deathscythe and use any knowledge gleaned from him to kill the others. Maybe other soldiers would eventually step up to take our places, but not without the high cost of more innocent lives being lost. It didn't matter. My options were to die now, of my own free will, quickly and painlessly.

Or death by OZ.

No thanks, I'd rather rip out my own testicles. At least I'd make it quick and painless.

Perspective changed everything. I was always amazed at how the mind could fool the body – a little perspective, and the tension and doubt that had clouded my mind and tightened my chest bled away. My heart rate slowed.

I was calm. (I was dangerous.)

"This is it, Deathscythe," I grinned, feeling slightly maniacal and drunk on adrenaline as I flipped open the cover that protected the switch from being struck accidentally. "Let's see how many of these OZ bastards we can take along with us."

I drew back my fist, clenching Heero's wooden carving tightly in my fingers. "Are you ready, OZ? Then join me on my journey into hell!"

My fist struck metal. The button yielded easily – funny, it should be harder to kill yourself. And then –

"What the – " I pounded on it again, with the same damn results.

Nothing. Nothing! No, it had to work! I was ready, dammit! I couldn't get caught, I couldn't –

"Why aren't you working!" I screamed in frustration, hammering away at the trigger until long after I felt the plastic shatter; felt blood oozed out from between my fingers from clenching around the wooden carving. "No! This is my choice! _My_ choice!"

It was faulty. It had either been disabled, or some of the mechanisms had been damaged in the fight. I was still going to be captured – it had all been for nothing. My hand fell limply to my side as I gazed at my screens.

I was blissfully numb as I watched the nearest Taurus level a beam cannon at me and take aim. My eyes calmly tracked the mortar shell as it shot towards me.

This time, when the world went dark, it stayed dark.

* * *

Last little author's note: before anyone comments on how easily Duo was beaten, this last scene was referenced directly from the show. Thank you once again for reading, and I will do my best to update quickly!


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Notes: **Don't worry if you find the first part a little confusing. I've never had a head injury personally, but deal with patients on a constant basis that do. The jump in Duo's thoughts and incoherence is based on those experiences, with a bit of dramatic license taken. ^^

If you read carefully, you'll find a fair amount of clues and foreshadowing in this chapter, particularly into Duo's 'gift'.

As is standard, anything in _italics_ are thoughts/memories.

* * *

**Chapter 16**

**11:19**

I –

_Detonate! I have to detonate!_

I came to with a violent jolt, hands and feet scrambling into action, pure instinct guiding my hand to where the button should be. Sharp bits of plastic and metal cut into my fingers.

It was broken?

_No, didn't work. It didn't work, right. The button...malfunctioned. _

I was –

_I was screwed! Oh, shit shit **shit**, they were aiming! They had fired at me! No... wait, it had already hit. But... but...then what...happened? _

I was –

"Captured," I rasped finally, my lips twisting grimly.

Metal clanged, the world jerked sideways and then pain was all I knew.

**18:02**

_Detonate!_

_No, tried. Failed. Can't run, can't detonate. Have to protect Howie's crew. What should I do? What would Heero do?_

_Heero?_

_Think, shit, just need to **think**!_

_Can't think, can't focus, ca-  
_

_Ca-  
_

Captured.

Captured. Captured. Captured.

I forced myself to the repeat the word in my head, trying to get it to stick. Why was I having so much trouble remembering that? I was a prisoner. Why –

What was that?

I cocked my head, listening intently to the noise which seemed to echo very strangely around the darkness. My eyes drifted shut, only to snap open to the sound of...tapping?

"Tho – Solo's tha' you?" I slurred stupidly; the inside of my mouth crusted with dried blood and parched; my tongue refusing to shape words. I fumbled uselessly at my surroundings, trying to get a sense of where I was. Twisted metal on my left. My legs trapped under something solid and heavy, but not injured. Something soft tickled my cheeks.

Nothing helpful.

I attempted to stand, only to find myself restrained. A dull warning ache in my side cautioned me about trying any such sudden movements again.

Why was I tied up?

I giggled. What idiot did the tying? Why was my body bound, but not my hands?

I felt along the length of the restraints, searching for the knot. It'd been eights years since a knot was anything more than an inconvenience to me. But as my fingers traveled, they instead ran into something cold and metallic.

A buckle?

I followed the restraint up the other way, until I touched the soft material that had tickled my cheek. It felt like fleece, or wool.

A buckle. Wool.

Harness.

Deathscythe.

Right. I was in Deathscythe.

"Heh, 'scythe, you're tryin' t' trick me," I chuckled painfully, instinctively splinting my side with my arms as pain flared up. Something was definitely cracked there. "Makin' me think it's Solo out there. M'ybe Quat? Or 'Ro? Hell, even W'fei...

My eyelids began to close as a darkness free of pain and confusion crept in to claim me. I jerked back in the seat, trying to fight it and was reward with another burst of pain.

Pain.

Injured.

Captured.

"Gotta stay 'wake, gotta stay 'wake, captured, shit shit shit, captured." I repeated that damn phrase so many times that by the time I was able to convince my body to move, it had set itself to some nonsensical tune and the words no longer had any meaning.

Too late did I notice that the strange noise outside the hatch had finally stopped. Instead, I suddenly froze in horror as a stream of excited voices piped up. My brain slowly slogged through the process of elimination as to who those voices could belong to.

Not Quatre.

Not Howard.

Excited voices.

Not Heero.

Definitely not Wufei.

"Shit shit shit, gotta move, need gun, gotta move, need gun," I added on as a chorus to my new-found theme song, uncooperative fingers fumbling with an even stubborner buckle. I reached for the knife I usually kept stashed in my boot but couldn't gain access with whatever had fallen onto my legs. I cursed furiously and as a last ditch attempt, sheered off the remained of the plastic that covered the useless self-destruct panel.

I used it to begin sawing away at the infuriating harness, taking a good deal of the flesh off my fingers while I was at it and it was about that point that things began to get a little jumbled again, at least when I had a chance to think it over later.

I remember hacking away at the last stubborn threads of the first belt with a bizarre sense of pride.

I remember an incessant thundering noise reverberating throughout my cockpit that almost seemed as if it was pounding directly in my skull and threw off my equilibrium to such an extent that I found myself swaying drunkenly in my seat.

I remember being blinded as a sudden burst of light exploded throughout my cockpit.

I remember dark featureless forms looming toward me.

And after that, I don't remember much at all.

**21:00:45**

My head buzzed, trying to reassemble the handful of bleary, fragmented memories from the past several hours and failing. My face...hummed. The world wouldn't stay upright.

"Geez, he's just a kid!"

"No shit, moron. Come on kid, wake up!"

It was the smell that did it, I think. Metallic, engine fumes...

They say scents are the strongest memory trigger we have...

**21:00:50**

"_Jondie...come on kid, wake up!"_

_Solo? I wondered._

_Solo, is that you?_

_Had to be. He was the only one of us brave enough to navigate the tunnels._

**21:01:01**

"Wake up, brat!"

A new voice.

"Damn...that's just creepy. He's like, possessed or something!"

Something wet hit my face. Dribbled down my cheek – metallic and warm.

"Jesus, look at his eyes..."

**21:01:17**

_I remember Jondie laying eagle spread in the snow. Eyes blank. Looking, but not seeing. Gone. Lost inside her own head._

_She did that sometimes. _

_I don't know where Solo found her. He was always bringing home strays...he found me, and together we made 'home'. A place for everyone else like us. _

_He didn't volunteer anything about her; just showed up, both of 'em bruised and bloody. I asked. He refused. I quietly nursed his wounds, watching... waiting. Later, when we were alone, I asked again. He often told me things he kept hidden from the other kids. I was his second-in-command, his partner-in-crime...his..._

_The look on his face scared me. I was maybe seven, him a couple years old, but suddenly there was a chasm between us. A lifetime of experiences condensed into a solitary moment that only he'd witnessed. I felt left out, except... _

_Haggard...haunted...they should never be used to describe a child._

_And that's all Solo was really. Just a child, like me. _

_And even if I didn't realize that then..._

_I didn't ask again._

**21:04:32**

Slap!

It nearly worked for a moment. Pain and reality crashed into place, blurry, but there. And then I focused my gaze and saw his smile. That maniacal... Smile...

**21:04:42**

_Jondie scared most of the other kids in our gang. On the surface she was one us; alone, no parents or ones that didn't want her... fighting to beat the odds and stay alive. But inside she was very different. Hyper, almost maniacal one minute, gone the next._

_Most of the others didn't want her around. They would pull faces, pinch her arms, and take her food. She didn't notice. She floated above it, detached from the world; a queen among peasants._

_I knew. I could feel the echoes of it back then too._

_Solo tried to explain. Said that she'd been hurt very badly. That her fake family had broken her into many pieces and she was trying to put herself together again except some of the pieces were lost and the others couldn't agree where to go. _

_That we had to help her, because we were her real family._

_I wanted to help her because it would make Solo happy. I liked her too. She was...a puzzle. When she talked, she'd say funny things and make me giggle, like that the stars were peepholes that the gods used to spy on us. Solo affectionately called her his snow angel because she loved twirling around in the snow and trying to catch it on her tongue. Whenever he did, she would peer out from under her long eyelashes at him with that little cryptic stare of hers, like she had some big joke that she was dying to share...but all she would reply was, 'Maybe one day, I will melt away.'_

**21:06:51**

"Christ, have you seen his eyes?! What'd ya do to him?"

"It wasn't me! They were fucked up like that before!"

**21:07:03**

_She had a obsession with eyes. She would never look at them directly; when she accidentally did, she'd flinch. One sideways glance; that would determine if she'd acknowledge you or not._

_Ever. _

_If whatever she was looking for wasn't there, you didn't exist. Not just ignore you...you didn't -exist- in her mind._

_She loved shiny things... it was hard to keep them away from her. But if you left her alone, she'd become entranced by them; doorknobs, a shiny coin, snowflakes on her palm...and disappear. I could feel it, even back then. The tug in my head that a dream was calling...that she was gone._

_I was tempted to follow her once. I know Solo wanted me to... but would never make me. He was good like that. He knew the dreamwalking scared me. But the moment I let go, let her pull me in too, I touched a black hole. It lapped at the edge of my consciousness, advancing and retreating, a tiny wave attempting to lure me into the abyss._

_I stood on the edge of nothingness...teetering..._

_From then on, I ignored the allure. I could back then. _

_I didn't want to see what was in her head. _

_I didn't want to get lost too._

**21:07:47**

"What's he staring at? Didja you see that?"

"What the fuck's wrong with him?"

_Nothing, _I wanted to say_. I'm lost now too. Lost in a memory._

_Stop hitting me._

**21:08:06**

_I think that's what happened to her in the end. She went wandering in her head and couldn't find her way back to us in time. Solo and I found her laying in an abandoned construction site, blue, stiff, alone. Submerged in the mud and slush like it was her grave. _

_I suppose it was._

_I thought she looked happy...that she'd finally melted away._

_Solo hit me when I said that. I didn't get angry. He needed to hit someone. He needed... to not be in control, responsible... just for a moment. For once, he looked just like a scared and lonely little boy. I could give him that. I would've given him anything. Even my life. Anything but... jumping into that black hole._

_He blamed me. Said I could have helped her. That I was a coward, that I was always running away from my problems. _

_I didn't tell him that sometimes it's better to run and hide. That I'd touched a black hole and lived. That I was afraid._

_I didn't tell him that I was, in a way, jealous of her. That in both life and death, she'd found away to escape ever being hurt again. _

_Instead, I held him while he yelled and lashed out. I lied. I told him I had tried. Tried to see the nightmares that haunted her, and that I'd failed. I told him that she wasn't hurting._

_But he didn't believe me. _

_That was the day I... I vowed..._

**21:14**

It was easier coming around this time.

Certain things snapped into place immediately, others remained foggy, but the fact that coherence was starting to return more quickly was a good thing, right? It helped when you don't have people punching you in the face and making your brain feel like it was going to dribble out of your ears. I was going to inform them of that fact, seeing as they didn't seem to be capable of figuring it out for themselves but...I was alone. Probably for the best 'cause I didn't think my mouth was working properly yet. Or my brain. Everything was fuzzy. My face was still humming... tingling... couldn't describe it.

I was very tired. That fact alone was ridiculous because I'd been unconscious for... for...

I shook my head, trying dislodge the cotton wool that'd obviously replaced my brain. That ended up being a Very Bad Idea; I could feel my eyes roll back and pinpricks of light dotted my vision, even though I was in pure darkness. The humming intensified until I felt like my teeth were going to vibrate right out of their sockets.

Unconscious for a while. That was about the best I could figure.

Even with the cotton wool brain, tingling face and pain, I knew this was the most coherent I'd been since being captured. It wasn't anything to boast about. Still, I let my head slump forward, trying to doze. Time and rest were what I needed in order to function. No point making my escape until I could do more than just twitch at people. Looks creepy...but not ….No point...

It'd been a long time since I'd thought about Solo in any more then passing. Longer still since I'd remembered Jondie. She wasn't with us for more than a few months, just one of many that we lost.

To this day, I don't know whatever happened to make her the way she was. I guess it no longer mattered. Dead is dead. I'd like to think we gave her a small amount of happiness for the remainder of her short life. The little five year old girl dancing, curls bouncing while snow floated down around her was a huge change from the half-wild creature she'd been when Solo had first found her.

To this day, I felt angry towards Solo. It was his fault that I still felt guilty, though that guilt had faded with knowledge gained over time. He had been just a little boy trying to be a man. He didn't understand how words, especially ones spoken in anger, could echo and grow over time. He couldn't have known how one small comment, especially from him, would have irrevocably changed me.

I _still_ wondered if I would have been able to help her face her nightmares. I still wondered if was possible to get lost inside someone's head and never be able to find my way back again.

I wondered what was in the center of that black hole.

The older I get, the more I realize how little I actually know about my problem. Quatre was right, maybe I should've researched it, but really, how could that help my situation? Call me pessimistic, but I doubt there are many resources out there bout for 'Help! I've fallen into a teenage sex dream' or 'Dreamwalking 101'.

And yet...how could I not be worried about what else I don't know?

Just as I was about to slip into unconsciousness again, I realized something else. Something else wrong. Something so blatantly obvious I couldn't believe I'd overlooked it all these years. Another piece of the ever-growing puzzle. Jondie's mind had pulled at mine...

And she hadn't even been sleeping at all.

**21:30**

I roused again just as they picked me up by my armpits and dragged me from my cell. The buzzing in my head had finally resolved – unfortunately not soon enough. I feigned unconsciousness for the time so they'd keep their guard down. This wasn't the opportunity I needed to escape... I needed more information first and besides, I was cuffed with my hands behind my back. Short of us all being struck by some rogue meteorite, I wasn't escaping in the foreseeable future. I had no idea if I was on a mobile base, military cruiser, or colony. Hell, I didn't even know if I was still in _space. _On a colony or the Earth, I'd stand a fighting chance. They, at least, were big enough to disappear in if the stars magically aligned and I escaped. But on a small ship? Hell, even if I managed to give my two guards the slip (and that was a big fucking 'if'. It meant I'd have to find a way to kill both of them instantaneously. With my hands cuffed behind my back.) I'd still have to find someway to disappear, and the choices were limited.

This was the latest cosmic fuck-up in the fabulous life of me, Duo Maxwell, and it had robbed me of a significant amount of time. My internal clock was royally screwed after two weeks of not adhering to anything remotely close to a normal schedule, but still had the decency to inform me that it was late. That was _marvelously_ helpful considering I no longer knew what day it was. At a bare minimum, I'd lost a good sixteen to eighteen hours.

Geez, I hoped that was all. When shit starts to happen in my life, it tends to happen all in one glorious cluster-fuck, not doled out in manageable increments. On a good day, it was all I could do to keep on top of the impending chaos and manage the situation; playing catch up was the last thing I needed right now. What was the fallout going to be from my capture? Had anything happened to the other pilots, or were they at least still doing the smart thing and laying low?

Now it suddenly seemed like a good thing to me that Sandrock had been so badly damaged in its last battle – the way I saw it, Quatre would be the only pilot who cared enough to pull of a rescue attempt, but without his Gundam, he wouldn't be able to. At least I knew he'd be safe. And what about Howard's crew? Had they gotten away safely?

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, not hard enough to draw blood, just enough to fully ground myself in the here and now. I couldn't allow myself the luxury to think about the what-ifs swirling around my head at right this particular moment. At this point, there was so many unknowns that I could 'what-if' myself until the day I died, which really wasn't saying a whole helluva lot because that day suddenly didn't seem to be too far off. I had to worry about myself, only myself, and assume the worst-case scenario.

So, with my eyes still calmly shut as if I was still blissfully unconscious, I began to list of what I knew.

Fact. I was captured.

Admittedly, that revelation wasn't going to win me any medals anytime, but as I'd had the IQ of a carrot up until a mere eighty-seven seconds ago, I decided it was a good idea to start with small victories.

Okay... Fact: I was currently being hauled from one somewhere to another somewhere by my armpits.

It hurt.

– Hurt being a minor understatement. Kinda like how Quatre had told me just a few days ago that Sandrock was 'a little bit damaged'. But I couldn't worry about the pain now either. It meant I was very much alive and that Someone out there was trying remind me that I better damn well stay that way, or just have the chance to kick me while I was down. I hadn't made up my mind which, but decided the theological debate could also wait awhile.

Injuries? Concussion for sure. That explained the confusion and lethargy, and the inability to complete a simple train of thought. Ribs bruised or cracked, but not broken. Breathing hurt, but wasn't impaired. Cuts and abrasions, well, that was nothing new. My hands felt deadened and puffy, but I wasn't able to tell whether that was due to some unseen injury, or just from being cuffed behind my back at such an awkward angle for so long. Considering the events that I'd managed to piece together; the suit fight, OZ forcibly gaining access to the cockpit, being thrown into a cell, and fuck-knows what else happened during the time I was unconscious, it was a surprisingly tame list.

The smartest thing for me to do was continue to pretend to be unconscious while I gathered information, and keep injuries to a minimum. Sure, I didn't have the best track record for doing the smartest thing lately, but I figured now was a good a time as any to amend that.

My two captors weren't particularly helpful in the info-gathering department, as they never uttered a single word to each other – not even a minor complaint. _Not even a fucking curse!_ Now, I may not be the heaviest bastard around but I could tell that after twenty minutes of hauling my ass up stairs and down the seemingly never-ending corridors, they were starting to tire. Seriously, were they competing for soldier of the year or something? It led me to believe I was dealing 'lifers', soldiers who were actually military, not just draftees and volunteers who'd just survived boot camp like I was used to.

Another reason to keep playing dead. Lifers didn't hesitate to react like draftees. It'd be that much harder to get the drop on 'em, so I needed to plan my escape carefully.

I peeled open an eyelid open as we continued on and began to memorize the layout. Stupid of me! I should have been doing this from the start. Fortunately, it didn't seem like I'd missed much. The turns I'd cataloged instinctively, without needed to see. Steel floor ways and bare corridors...usually meant a space vessel. Still, I didn't come to a definite decision until one of my guards shifted my weight and I allowed my head to lull to one side long enough to see zero-G grab bars lining the corridor.

Definitely space.

I breathed a sigh of relief, which didn't go unnoticed by my captors. Their grip on my arm was magnified and the pace increased. It didn't matter. Space was my element. I knew how the colonies worked. I had a network of resources here that I didn't have back on Earth. I had safe houses lined up, I knew the best transports to stow away on, knew where to get weapons.

Now I just had to find a way to escape.

A loud hiss signified a door sliding open and we entered a dimly lit room. Before I could assess the latest developments, I found myself being dropped into a chair. I could sense people in the room. It was quieter in this part of the ship; we'd obviously moved away from the engines and I could hear sounds of life – rustling of clothing, heavy breathing, the squeak of polished leather. But even if I hadn't been able to distinguish all that, I still would have known they were there. I could feel the insatiable itch on the back of my neck, the tension filling the air...the sixth sense that warned me I was being watched.

"Sir!" One of my captor's saluted, bringing his heels together with an impressive click.

"At ease," came a rumble from in front of me.

I stifled a snort, remembering just in time that I was supposed to be unconscious. I never understood all that military saluting, polishing and discipline crap. My saluting skills were limited to the one finger variety. Polishing? Well, you could hand me a shoe brush and I could certainly tell you where to stick it, still didn't mean I knew how to use the damn thing. It's not like the mad professor cared about all that shit – it didn't make me any less of an effective killer and that was all he ever gave a damn about.

But unfortunately my act quickly came to a painful end. I had just enough time to think 'uh-oh' when something with prongs was jabbed into my back before a wave of fire and electricity washed through me, muscles spasmed uncontrollably, sending me arching back into the chair. At some point I bit through my tongue but couldn't do anything but grit my teeth and fight to keep myself from moaning. I was successful too, until some sadistic bastard slammed my head into the table. I stayed slumped over, swaying back and forth, completely stunned. It took me several moments to confirm that my head was still miraculously attached to my neck, a few more to confirm that staying conscious was still in the realm of possibility. The pain helped. From some miraculous depths, my body found another reserve of adrenaline to flood my system.

I stayed hunched over, panting, trying to regain control of muscles that trembled from the remnants of electricity. I could feel the eyes trained on me watching for the slightest voluntary twitch, the barest of movements. I ignored them. I didn't care. I _couldn't_ care right now.

That was the key.

I let that feeling grow; let go of the doubts, the questions, the unnecessary emotions, until only the most feral part of me remained – the part of me that I only unleashed on the battlefield.

I could feel the changes, not just in my perceptions, but in my face and body too. The corners of my mouth involuntarily twisted in a smirk, my eyes narrowed and went hard, my body relaxed.

I lifted my head slowly, and glared menacingly around at them. Blood ran down my face from the newest gash in my forehead. My eyes were only partially healed, now a mottling of crimson on white. They noticed my bizarre lack of disorientation, how aware I was.

How unafraid.

One soldier actually took an involuntary step backwards.

"Do that again," I smiled dangerously, "and I will remove your fingers with my teeth."

* * *

**A/N**:In an effort to update more quickly, this chapter was one monstrous one that I split into two parts, as the first half was ready to go and the second wasn't. There are so many notes for this chapter that I decided against including them. I do put a lot of thought/research into this story, so if you have a question, feel free to ask, I will always answer.

Credit for the OC in this chapter: The name 'Jondie' comes from a character in the TV show _Dark Ange_l, the character story was loosely inspired by the song '_Concrete Angel_', and her personality was loosely based on a character from the fanfiction called_ Pianissimo Butterfly_ (a fantastic, if slightly odd '_Gravitation'_ fanfic) For obvious reasons the character will not be making a further appearance except in reference.

Thanks for reading!


	17. Chapter 17

Happy Thanksgiving to my Canadian readers. Hope you all had good times with friends and family, and stayed safe. ^^

* * *

**Chapter 17**

* * *

Interrogation.

It didn't matter how much training or experience I'd gained over my short life, I couldn't help but associate the word interrogation with blood, scary looking metal things and general unpleasantness.

Don't get me wrong, there usually was a fair amount of unpleasantness, blood usually followed and scary looking metal things might or might not make an appearance, but there was a fine line between interrogation and torture. The reality is, there's a fair amount of actual science involved in interrogation - science beyond experiments that tested how many different ways you could make someone bleed. Believe me, I was forced to read all the literature ever written since the history of, well, _ever, _on the subject; role-play different scenarios and master all the coping techniques. Honestly, the training itself was torture, not because of physical pain, but because somehow I always managed to _breath_ wrong during the calming exercises, and apparently never having seen a cute fluffy rabbit was no excuse for being able to imagine myself as one.

Sarcasm aside, at the heart of it, interrogation was an art. Any moron with a mouth could ask a question, but it did take someone with finesse to ask the right questions at the right times, who knew when to apply pressure and when to back off, to spot the subtle signs of when someone was lying and when they were telling the truth, to redirect and backtrack and fluently mix up fact with fallacy until your victim was so muddled they weren't even sure what their name was anymore.

G is a man of science, but even he was forced to concede that I had a certain knack for the game of interrogation beyond what he taught me with his science. It was a power struggle, a battle of the minds, one that was (though harder to achieve) possible to win even if you were the one strapped to the chair.

Now I was strapped to the chair.

This was all too real.

I was also used to being the underdog.

_Bring it on._

**22:47**

"_The first rule for beginning any successful interrogation is preparation – a word that until now, seems to have been missing from your vocabulary."_

"_There's preparation, then there's overkill."_

"_Well, now, preparation is key. I don't care what side of the interrogation room you find yourself on, the rules are the same. You needed to give off the allusion that you hold all the power; to let them sit and sweat about what's to come. Make them uncomfortable, refuse them sustenance, use every dirty trick you know, Duo, while you watch them. You claim to be good at reading people? Well, use that skill now. Watch what they want you to see, observe what they try to hide, and use the time to gather all the information about them that exists. I'm sure even you can manage that..."_

_-Conversation between G and Duo; AC 193_

G's sarcastic voice was the last voice I wanted to hear rattling about my head in my current situation– about as relaxing as listening to an overgrown parrot squawking at the top of its lungs. Still, I managed to amuse myself for a few minutes picturing the aneurism someone was giving themselves right that minute trying to research all the gory details about me, a person who didn't officially exist, while some superior officer breathed fire down their neck.

My concussed brain (which was quite happy to be rid of my more rational side) merrily supplied all kinds of mental images to go along with that thought, and pretty soon I was struck with the urge to snigger at the cartoon image of the aforementioned researcher running around while an overgrown dragon shot sparks out his nostrils.

I did snicker as the officer's perfectly pressed trousers caught fire, but cut off abruptly as a soldier (a real one this time) shifted uneasily in front of me.

Even better.

If I could consistently act deranged (and I wasn't entirely sure that it was still only an act at this point) I could drag this thing out for ages and get away with saying all kinds of bizarre shit that they'd have to verify. I wasn't quite sure if it was the best plan of action, but it didn't hurt to keep my options open.

The senior officers stuck with guarding me were occupied gambling with a set of dice in the corner of the little interrogation room, evidently pulling rank and making the junior officer do all the hard work of keeping an eye on me. Meanwhile, Mr. Junior-Officer was doing his best to look anywhere _but_ at me. He spent an inordinate amount of time staring at my braid, which had taken on a life of its own and was swinging lazily behind me; so long in fact that I began to wonder if he'd inadvertently hypnotized himself. I waited patiently, trying to surreptitiously keep blood circulation going in my bound hands and keep knots from forming in my awkwardly twisted back. I didn't dare draw attention to my legs, which were still untied and my best weapon. My waiting paid off when the nervous junior officer finally hazarded a quick peek at my face.

And I latched on to his gaze and stared back, a sardonic half-smile blossoming on my face, unblinking.

Mr-Junior-Officer-who'd-barely-hit-puberty was immediately dubbed Boris. From my vantage point I could just see the first letter on his tortuously starched uniform was a 'B', but the blood dripping down irritably into my eyes obscured the smaller letters. I could also tell he was a leftie using an unmodified right-handed weapon, which either meant he was ambidextrous, an idiot, or liked the thrill of possibly of losing an eye from a hot shell casing whizzing past his face as he fired.

One guess which option I was going with.

I spent the next fifteen minutes playing the staring game with Boris, watching in amusement as his face cycled through various interesting shades of red and purple, and sweat dribbled down his nose. I've been told many times that my eyes were downright creepy, and I'd rather play that up than go around educating people on the perfectly boring explanation of recessive genes and spontaneous mutation. It's funny really, the fact that the color of my eyes freaked people out when that was quite possibly the most harmless thing about me. People saw the unusual purple and thought god-touched or supernatural, whereas I could only see the possibility of incest and other things I didn't want to dwell on too much.

Junior-Officer-B-for-Boris lost the staring game at the precise moment he began surreptitiously inching backwards, and collided unceremoniously into the wall. He lost more points for sheer lameness as he swung around to defend himself from the scary wall and whacked himself in the nose with his rifle butt. That earned him attention of the senior officers, who were still preoccupied playing dice in the corner, up until now completely oblivious to fun I was was having tormenting their young comrade. It was funny, really. They'd been doing so well at following all the step-by-step instructions for a successful interrogation until now.

I pasted an expression that I hoped resembled fear on my face and watched from behind the facade with idle interest as one of the superior officers lumbered to his feet. Maintaining silence was a classic way to resist interrogation, but not one of my strong points; not when there was so many insults just waiting to be let loose. Instilling nervousness and unease in them was another method; something which I was better at. It went against their attempts to maintain power. And from the looks of things, Mr. Senior-Officer was just about to hand me an opportunity to reverse that power struggle on a silver platter.

With a big fucking bow.

I shrank back in my chair, seemingly out of fright as the experienced officer lumbered towards me, and braced the palms of my bound hands as flat as I could on the seat of the chair. As he pulled his arm back I turned my face away and coward down in the seat.

And as his hand came down in an arc, past the point of no return, I whipped my head back and around, and sank my teeth into the top his fist, pain from the residual impact causing my bite to go deeper than I'd intended.

As he clutched his hand to his body, howling in pain and rage, I resisted the instinct to spit the blood out right away so I could make more of an impact. The delivery of my performance was vital and I always knew the best way to put on a show.

Pah, and G said my dramatic tendencies would only get me into trouble.

When he was able to focus his attention on me again, I spat his blood at him, and grinned savagely, baring my bloodstained teeth at them all.

"Can't say I didn't warn you."

**02:11**

I woke to the sounds of someone retching.

Only when I became aware enough to feel the wetness pooling on the side of my face did I realize it was me. It wasn't that I had anything in my stomach to throw up, hell, I hadn't eaten in days, but apparently my stomach was on some hellbent renegade mission to ensure that every last molecule that had ever had the privilege of seeing my guts was ejected.

Forcefully.

"Shit..." I groaned quietly, the side of my face squashed against something cold and hard. I lay there for several moments, keeping one ear pricked for any movement in the vicinity and using the time to gather what wits I had left. Not hearing anything, but still not trusting myself at this point, I peeled open an eye open to look around. Dank, dim, measly amount of light filtering through metal bars in a metal door. The standard recipe for a cell. I breathed a sigh of relief, and quickly regretted it, trying to recall the latest events. As it wasn't overly hard, I knew I hadn't been out for long.

It was shortly after the first soldier was hauled of to medical to have the severed tendons in his hand reattached that someone was dispatched to go hunt my interrogator down. Apparently, between the four remaining officers they had a combined intelligence great enough to figure out (quite rightly) that stage one of the interrogation: Unnerve the Enemy, had been a resounding failure. Unfortunately, the actual interrogator didn't appear until after a second soldier, in an obvious foolish attempt to seek retribution for his fellow officer, was carried out to have the brand new bend I'd created in his lower leg seen to.

Then Mr. Interrogator arrived; a man that was the epitome of a heart-attack on legs – ya know, the kind of guy whose gut had it's own gravity field. He waddled in the room with his chest puffed out like a hooker with new breast implants, wheezing like a chain-smoking asthmatic and possessing the most disgusting set of sweat-stains under his armpits I'd ever had to witness. I'd no doubt he knew he had the honor of questioning a Gundam pilot...just a pity for him, I guess, that no one had thought to inform the poor sod that the Gundam pilot in question had only hit puberty a couple years ago. I think it kinda fucked with his mind, and I was quite happy to use that to my advantage. The first half of the question-portion of the interrogation had him making halfhearted attempts to gain information while secretly looking out for the hidden cameras that would let him know he was being strung along.

The second? Well, let's just say he finally got down to business.

He questioned, I smirked. He feigned empathy, I laughed. He threatened, I insulted. He dislocated my shoulder and then I decided I'd had enough. The most important rule to survive being interrogated (besides the obvious of not spilling your guts about all you knew) was to reduce harm to yourself. Ignoring the pain from my newly injured shoulder, I set to work orchestrating another opportunity for myself to inflict some damage – and he was obviously not hauling that large ass of his out of his chair without some serious incentive. It took some doing, I'll admit, but I've been told I have a talent for royally pissing off people when the fancy strikes me. The breaking point for him was when I horked a big wad of blood in his face and it dribbled down his nose and ran into his mouth; he damn near leapt over the table to get his hands on me then.

It was precisely what I'd been aiming for.

I don't know why these guys thought that just because my hands were cuffed, it equaled me being completely defenseless. You think they would've learned the first time I gave someone an all-expenses paid trip to the med-deck. It was probably why the ship had been out in the boonies of L5 rather than in the fighting zone.

I gave him a swift kick that ensured he wouldn't be procreating any time soon (a _very_ disturbing image) and then proceeded to demonstrate just how I'd manage to break the second guard's leg with only my own legs free.

My plan to get back to my cell had obviously worked, but my brain couldn't decide if that had been such a good idea after all. The crucial leverage I'd needed to entwine his jiggly, ham-hock leg with my own while forcefully stomping down with my other foot on his knee had turned my cracked ribs into broken ones as they slammed into the back of the chair. My shoulder was still out of its socket and the swelling meant I didn't know if I was going to be able to put it back in place myself, even if I could get up the nerve to do it. I had the shakes, either from lack of caffeine, the concussion, the cold, the lack of food, or possibly combination of all four. I was afraid to move, but eventually the overwhelming urge to breathe won out and I shimmied back off my stomach with my good arm until I was on all fours, coughing with the effort. More shit came up, from my lungs this time but I was just glad it was too dark to see if it was still blood. Sometimes there's just thing you're better off not knowing - too much knowledge could be downright depressing. When the hacking subsided, I hauled myself back into a sitting position until I was resting gingerly against one wall.

"Well... I guess I'm still alive," I chuckled wryly, clutching my abdomen as my guts writhed about in agony. I was used to pain – hell, I'd had every type of food poisoning possible on my days on the streets, broken bones, been stabbed, been shot, burned...but this kind of pain was on a completely different level. It wasn't surface, but deep... I couldn't even tell where it was originating from. My whole side was on fire – it radiated into my back, spasms threatened to overwhelm me every time I drew in a breath. I could only hope my broken ribs were located far away from my spleen and liver... well, anything soft, squishy and vital. I tried to feel around with my good hand to see if there was anything poking out that shouldn't be, but all I could feel was that my belly felt rigid, and even the light touch made me groan involuntarily.

Bruising was the best case scenario. Internal bleeding was the worst. At least my belly wasn't distended – that much I could remember from the field first-aid course I'd taken eons ago during training. I'd not paid much attention to that part of the training – it wasn't like you could do anything for internal wounds other then IV fluids if you had the time and equipment (surprisingly, I couldn't see OZ going for that) and getting your ass to a hospital.

If you didn't die first.

The cocky, in control facade I'd been forcing for the last several hours slipped now that I was alone. I couldn't remember ever being in a worse position. Doesn't get much worse that being capture by the enemy, unless you throw in the fact that I didn't know the layout of the base, had no weapons, no backup and I didn't think I was even capable of moving very far under my own power. And Deathscythe...

I choked then.

The bastards had my Deathscythe. Who knew what they were going to do to him? I knew I wouldn't crack – I'd goad them into killing me first before I revealed anything about the others, but Deathscythe was another story. They'd rape the system for information – and they would get it, I wasn't a complete dumbass – I knew it was only a matter of time. Maybe they'd strip him for parts; to study him. Or maybe they'd find the resources to rebuild him. God, I didn't want to think of someone else piloting MY suit.

I was panting. Rapid, shallow breaths that had my lips and fingers starting to prickle again. I was fucking angry, frustrated and too damn powerless to do anything about it but let it build inside me. My chest hurt, and not from anything they'd done to me, not this time. I knew I was starting to panic, but I couldn't find anything to focus on. My panting grew heavier, until I was gasping trying to draw oxygen in, but I was already growing lightheaded, I didn't need oxygen, I needed to just calm the fuck down before I passed out or threw up.

"This is...all part of it...c'mon, Duo, getta grip...fuckin' interrogation's still goin' on," I panted, still having the sense to keep my voice barely audible. Just because they weren't still asking questions, didn't mean they were done with me. The game was still just getting started. They had to get a new interrogator, and this one would have experience, not just the one they kept out the way and used as a last resort. Now the mind games would truly begin, and there was nothing I could do. They'd keep me isolated, withhold food and water, heat, find ways to keep me from sleeping, turn the lights on and off until I'd lost even the most basic sense of time.

"Gotta get it together...c'mon..."

And then I heard a sudden commotion outside my cell door. The familiar sounds of fighting grounded me enough so I managed to halt my breathing completely, not letting myself exhale until I knew I could control it.

A clatter next, and someone crying out. I felt the familiar tug of an unconscious mind pulling at mine but it quickly faded. With tremendous effort, I pulled myself up until I could almost be considered standing, relying on the wall more than I liked.

"Oh, not you," I groaned, recognizing the face the moment it peered through the small barred window on my cell door. Really, could this day get any...nope. Today was not the day to finish that sentence.

"You're...awake?"

"Brilliant observation," I ground out irritably, spitting out a mouthful of blood on the ground in his direction, all the while trying to hide my confusion. Was this part of the interrogation? Had Blue-Eyes been apart of OZ all along? That didn't make sense though, if he were, why would he have knocked out the guards?

"Bit spartan for my taste," Blue-eyes pursed his lips thoughtfully, squinting through the darkness to look at me. "But hey, each to his own, right?"

"Can't imagine ya stopped in just to diss the décor." I sighed, clutching my dislocated arm to my chest in an effort to splint it. "So whaddya want this time?"

"Oh, sorry, hope you don't mind me dropping in like this, unannounced and all," he replied in all earnestness. "I just happened to be in the area and figure, hey, why not? I had a few minutes to kill. Be rude if I didn't pop by and say hello..."

He was different this time. His entire demeanor had changed from the way he'd presented himself on that colony in L3. There was a lilt present in his voice that I hadn't noticed before; an annoying sing-song cadence that made every word he spoke sound as though he was mocking me. Still nothing pronounced enough for me to place where he was from, but it was something to file away for later.

Assuming there was a later.

"Come to make me another 'proposition'?" I spat, urging him to keep talking; to say or do something stupid that would give me some kind of clue as to what his agenda was.

"Maybe," he shrugged. "But not today. You seem to have your hands full at them moment and well, I'm on a schedule. Places to go, people to... see."

"Is that all?" I muttered grimly, stifling a cough that would have sent me to my knees if I'd let it out. "I thought you had a few minutes to..._kill?"_

"Oh, very good," he laughed, looking genuinely amused. "You're starting to catch on. Not as quick as I thought you would, but still... guess you've been a little preoccupied. Now, a _Gundam_ pilot... have to say, I didn't see that one coming."

I groaned internally. The one thing I had over him; my one known advantage was gone. I wondered who else knew.

" 'Scourge of the galaxy' though? A bit dramatic, don't you think? Not quite how I'd describe you –"

"I could think of a few words I'd use to describe you," I muttered.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that?" he replied, in a way I knew that he'd heard all too well what I'd just said.

"I said I know who you are," I replied smoothly, hoping to catch him off-guard and make this conversation do a u-turn back on to him.

"Oh, I doubt that very much," he grinned, completely unperturbed.

"I remember you," I challenged.

"Now that, I can believe," he cried out cheerfully. "You need to be a little clearer when you speak. Mistakes can be made. Although, I'm disappointed I left such a _fleeting_ impression that you'd forgotten me in the first place."

"You're a nobody," I chuckled in disbelief, regretting the movement immediately as the jack-hammering in my head returned with a vengeance and set the world spinning around me. "Why would I remember you?"

"Your loss..." he shrugged, looking down suddenly. There was a dull thud, something slammed against my cell door and the the sound of someone moaning in agony. "My apologies. But he was about to interrupt us, and I just find that very _rude!_"

The moaning ebbed away until all I could hear was the irregular gurgle of the poor man's labored breathing. My own injured chest grew tight in sympathy...or maybe it was just tired of listening to the guy talk too, and was trying to suffocate me out of joint commiseration.

I looked at Blue-eyes in disgust. "Why don't you just kill him?"

He looked genuinely taken aback. "But I did. He's dying right now, can't you hear him? Life just draining out of him as we speak. Like sand in an hourglass, his time is slipping away and bringing him closer to the unknown."

"I think I just threw up a little," I snorted in disgust. "Do you even listen to the crap coming outta your mouth?"

The corner of his mouth quirked up into a lopsided grin, the earnest expression shed as easily as he'd put it on. "I give him ten minutes, tops. Two, if one of those ribs happened to go through an artery. Though," he paused, looking down again for several long moments, "it doesn't look like it. Pity."

I felt nauseated. It was one thing to kill a person... as much as I hated to admit it, I could understand him doing that. But to stare down at a dying man, and be merciless? And I was just as bad...because I had to pretend to be equally unfazed so as not to show anymore weakness than I already was. I channeled my inner-Heero, schooling my face into his favorite 'I don't give a shit' expression before commenting, "How about you just hand me his keys then?"

"Oh, now, that would be cheating, wouldn't it? Besides," he leaned forward slightly, as if to let me in on a secret and stage-whispered, "I'm not even supposed to be here."

I gave a one-shouldered shrug, praying that the poor guy moaning at his feet would just hurry up and die already and replied flatly, "I won't tell if you won't."

"Mmm, not this time, I don't think," he replied thoughtfully, drumming his fingers on the side of his face. "I want to see how this plays out. Besides, I'm running behind schedule. You'll think of something, I'm sure."

I stayed silent. I couldn't think of any witty remark, only something too close to the truth that I wasn't willing to voice.

"You give up too easily," he tutted, smirking at me as if he'd read my mind.

Oh, now that hit a nerve. I could handle the flippant comments and deal with the fact the guy seemed to be completely devoid of humanity. That was his problem. But I wasn't about to let the ass get away with a comment like that. I'm used to people knocking my hair, the way I look, the way I was raised... but I wasn't a liar and I wasn't a quitter. With the childhood I'd had, you didn't get to be my age by giving up. My eyes narrowed. "Say that again, and I will make sure you regret it."

His eyes flashed dangerously, mirroring my own as he studied me intently. The first real expression I'd seen. Or was it? I couldn't tell with him. I couldn't tell what was part of his act, and what was a genuine reaction.

"Is that a promise?" he replied finally, turning to leave. I didn't answer him and he obviously didn't care for my response as I soon heard his footsteps quickly retreating away down the hallway.

"Oh, forgot to say..." his voice came drifting back to me, just barely audible, "love what you've done with your eyes..."

Several minutes passed - it wasn't until I was positive that he was gone that I allowed myself to collapse against the wall and slide down it. Adrenaline, combined with the lack of food and blood-loss left me shaking so badly it was all I could do to keep from crying out as pain repeatedly lanced through my ribs with each breath and tremor. The horrible wet rattle of the guard slowly dying outside my door was a sickeningly fitting soundtrack for the situation and concealed the sound of a new set of footsteps until they were nearly right outside.

I needed to install a doorbell.

"What the – hell...oh god," I finally spat out as the the door swung open, waffling between whether to be relieved or pissed and finally settling on stunned. "Heero?"

"Duo."

Then he pointed a gun at me.

I paused only for an instant, trying to let my brain catch up with the world, before chuckling softly and relaxing against the wall. "You've come to kill me. Knew it would happen one of these days... Man, am I glad to see you. I thought Quatre would be the only one stupid enough to break in here."

An odd look flashed over his face, but it was gone before I could even begin to figure out what it was. Probably because I'd just insinuated that he was an idiot. His hand twitched, but I didn't flinch, even though I thought for one split second that he'd gone and pulled the trigger without so much as a hug goodbye, or at least to find out if I had any last words. But there was no new pain, no trigger click.

"Do it, Heero. I'd rather you pull the trigger than any bastard from OZ," I sighed tiredly, coughing again. He was making me nervous, he still hadn't said anything but my name.

"I will... if you want me to," he finally said, hesitant, as if he was looking for permission.

No, I didn't fucking want to die you moron, but it's better than the damn alternative!

–At least, that's what I would have said had I wanted to waste my breath, which apparently I was having to ration. Instead I used it to stagger to my feet one last time, ignoring the nausea-inducing motion as the room stopped spinning in circles and started teetering from side-to-side instead. I had the sneaking feeling that if I went down again, I wasn't going to be getting up under my own power.

"Heero," I said once I'd caught my breath, spreading my good arm to make myself an even easier target. I caught his eye and made sure I held his attention before I continued. "Pull. The damn. Trigger."

He lowered the gun.

"Goddammit, Yuy! Why do you have to be so pigheadedly obstinate? Is it your life's mission to do the complete opposite of what I say?" I hissed, taking an angry step forward and going down the moment my hand left the wall. He darted forward and snagged my arm, catching me before I could hit the floor. I choked as another wave of pain tore through me with the sudden wrenching movement, and all I could do was claw my hands in his shirt until it subsided, to the point of where I was sure I'd left scratches in his chest, fighting not to pass out. "You came here to shoot me...so just shoot me," I panted when I was able to speak again.

"Did they question you?" he asked after a minute, his tone carefully guarded. "Did you tell them anything?"

"Oh, lots," I growled in frustration. "I told him that he must have been the result of some bizarre mating experiment between a rhino and baboon; that until I'd met him I didn't realize it was possible to have a negative IQ... oh, and that I saw his mother at the zoo the other day chucking feces at people – "

"Did you tell them anything about us?" he asked again slowly, fighting to keep his temper in check. No, really, I wasn't bragging when I said I had the ability to royally piss people off. Just wish I wasn't quite so good at it sometimes.

"No, Heero." I gave him a ruthless smile; one that made even the irate expression on Heero's face sober a little bit. "I got him to lose his cool and then when he broke those pesky little rules of interrogation and came too close, I broke his leg. Funnily enough, they decided the interrogation could be postponed until someone more..._suitable_ could perform it."

I swear I heard the guy snort. Either that or I could add auditory hallucinations to my ever-growing list of symptoms. I wasn't exactly sure which was the less disturbing option.

You could almost see the gears in his head turning, so rapidly I'm surprised he didn't combust right on the spot as he ran through scenarios. My poor surviving braincells were trying to figure out how to rub two sticks together so I wisely left the planning to Heero.

"Can you walk?" he asked finally, his eyes flickering to the door. I could tell he liked being in a room that could only be opened from the outside about as much as I did.

I rolled my eyes, clutching my dislocated arm carefully as he let go of me, and braced myself against the wall again. "Does it look like it?"

"Possibly." His eyes sized me up, calculating; glittering from the harsh light of the corridor florescents. I wondered then what it was Jondie looked for when she looked into people's eyes. I wondered if she would 'see' Heero. He had nice eyes...

I snorted quietly; I really couldn't help myself. Now was not the time for those kind of thoughts.

Heero put a hand on the back of my shoulder, a gesture that could have been mistaken for a comforting one had it not been him doing it, and looked intently into my eyes. "I'm sorry."

"For wh –" I began, and then he wrenched on my arm.

This time I did blackout, if only for a few seconds. When I came too, we were both on the ground; him supporting me in a half-assed sitting position with one arm while he strapped my arm to my chest with a makeshift bandage.

"Could've...ah, _shit – _could've warned me," I gasped, writhing against him as the pain crescendoed then gradually faded to a dull ache.

"You would have tensed up and made it more painful for yourself," he replied unabashedly as he tied a quick knot. I noted that I'd be able to release the knot with my good hand if I'd needed both arms free in a hurry.

"It could be _more _painful?" I growled.

"Yes," he replied simply, either not catching the sarcasm or choosing to ignore it. "Better?"

"Yeah... thanks," I muttered, subdued. I did feel better...well, at least my shoulder did. The pain there was down to a dull ache, which was enough for me to ignore it and focus solely on protecting my ribs instead.

He grunted dismissively. "Anymore?"

"Anymore what?" I sniped moodily. "I'm not in the freakin' mood to play guessing games, Heero." I was still very much aware of his arms still around me, supporting me, even though he was done strapping my arm. I had to stop myself from burying deeper into his arms to get at the warmth - something which I hadn't missed until being enveloped by it. The thought of leaving that heat wasn't a pleasant one. And it seemed to me that he wasn't in any hurry to get away from me either.

Man, it had to be all those damn blows to the head... my concentration was shot. My observations... severely questionable. I needed to get a grip. We weren't out of danger yet.

"Anymore injuries we should take care of?" Heero asked, pulling away.

"None that we can do anything 'bout right now," I sighed, allowing him to haul me awkwardly to my feet. He was surprisingly gentle, and we were both able to get upright without setting off another attack of muscle spasms. He threw my good arm over his shoulder and we hobbled out of the cell, awkwardly squeezing out the door. He leant me against the wall and shrugged out from under my arm as soon as he was sure I'd gotten my balance, before tossing me his revolver. I instinctively covered him as he snagged a sub-machine gun that was on the ground and checked the bolt.

I found myself liking the fact that he wasn't treating me as though I was completely helpless. It was a massive change from the way he'd treated me just a few months ago, when I wasn't even considered capable of defending myself against a portly raccoon.

"Which do you want?" he asked, snapping the clip back into place when he was satisfied.

The machine gun was easier to use, his revolver was lighter. I briefly weighed the pros and cons of each and finally nodded to the machine gun. "Probably be better if I didn't need to aim."

I didn't even think I could aim at this point, but I wasn't about to say that out loud. I'm sure, knowing him, that he would have deduced that anyway. He didn't seem surprised by my choice at least, simply nodded and actually helped slip the strap over my head when he realized I couldn't raise my arm to do it myself. We had to do some adjusting with his makeshift bandage that strapped my arm to my chest so I was able to still move it at the elbow; enough at least to aim in the general direction of the enemy and lay down cover-fire should we need it. He stepped forward to take my arm again when I felt something brush my leg. I glanced down. "Oh, shit... Heero?"

I don't know how the poor kid was still alive, never mind conscious. As I hadn't been sucked into la-la land, and with all the other events that had managed to cram themselves into the past few minutes, I'd forgotten about the two guards Blue-Eyes had taken out. One was quite definitely dead, his face mottled blue and purple, eyes flat and sunken back into his skull... and a dent on the top of his head that my fist could have fit in. But the other, the one Blue-Eyes had joked about, was still very much alive. Junior-Officer-B-for-Boris with his perfectly manicured uniform... no, I could now see his name was Bodie, and the once pristine uniform was covered with a thick, pink froth that bubbled out of his nose and mouth. A continuous gurgle in his chest sounded like a percolator every time he drew in a breath; only one side of his chest rose. Blood pooled on the floor but I couldn't differentiate what was coming from him and what was dripping off of me. His movements were spastic; kinda like he was an overgrown squirrel and it took him several attempts until he was able to latch on to my pant leg again.

Heero looked down, and blinked in surprise. I could tell that he hadn't noticed the guy was still alive either – probably the only thing his brain processed at the time was 'non-threat'.

"What happened?"

"The guy from L3... Blue-eyes," I answered shortly, not wanting to get into the matter. "No, later, Heero," I held up a hand to stop him when his eyes flickered over at me uneasily and his mouth opened to quiz me on it. "If we get outta here, _then_ we can worry about that."

I moved to bend down and choked as a rib attempted to skewer my internal organs. If I wasn't careful, I'd end up in the same situation as the young soldier. "Heero..."

I hoped he understood what I trying to get across with just a single word. The dying soldier was still semi-conscious, despairing eyes darting wildly about and I didn't want to cause him anymore unnecessary panic by verbalizing what needed to be done. I suppose I could have just shot him, but we needed to conserve ammo, and besides, that likely would have brought unwanted attention that Heero'd miraculously managed to avoid so far, and the last thing I wanted to do was piss Heero off while he was hellbent on helping me. But I didn't have the ability or the strength to kneel down and do what had to be done. He may have been the enemy, but he was just a kid, not much older than me, and he was beyond medical aid. I could be cold when I needed to be, but I wasn't heartless. No one should die like that.

No one should die slowly and alone, like Jondie did.

I thought Heero was going to berate me for wasting time, or have some snide comment ready. I'd spent the better part of the last six months trying to understand the guy only to realize I didn't, and the last ten minutes had just proven that – I mean, Heero? Coming to rescue me? Shoot me, yes, that fell perfectly in the realms of possibility; rescuing me never seemed like even a distant option. But here he was, hesitating only briefly as he tried to work out what I was asking him to do, before his eyes softened almost imperceptibly. He gave me the barest of nods in understanding, jaw tightening minutely as he looked away from me and down at the young soldier.

Pangs of guilty stabbed at me (or maybe that was just the broken ribs again.) Regardless of the cause, the fact that I'd just gone and lumped Heero into the same category as the Blue-Eyed Bastard didn't sit well with me. Just because Heero didn't go around oozing a warm fluffy caring vibe, didn't mean he was a sadist.

With only a cursory glance around, obviously trusting me to guard his back, he slowly knelt down beside Bodie and reached for his hand. Bodie released his death grip on my leg and grasped for Heero's arm, choking as another wave of blood surfaced in his mouth and not having the strength left to even cough. Heero didn't flinch; simply placed his hands gently on either side of the dying man...boy's face.

"I'm going to take away your pain," he murmured, his low voice containing much more gentleness than even I thought he was capable of possessing.

The intensity of it made me shiver.

My gun never wavered as I heard the snap of the boy's neck. I simply gritted my teeth and stared down the corridor.

Hoping that all this pain and death would be worth it, someday.

* * *

**A/N: **For those of you who've been looking forward to Heero/Duo interaction, don't worry, the next few chapters are full of it. It's probably apparent that I no longer have a beta-reader, so my question to you is, do I search for another one (which could delay posting chapters) or are the mistakes I make easy enough to overlook? If I consistently make an error, please feel free to tell me. ^^

Thanks for reading!


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